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demieyesore · 6 months

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You - Theodore Nott

Currently listening to Hollywood undead while I write this fanfic, anyways I’m a big whore (unfortunately) and I see that currently my poll is around the same votes for Mattheo and Theo…so this one will be for Theo (since my first fanfic was for Mattheo) and then my next fanfic after this one will be Mattheo x Reader x Theo bc I absolutely love men and poly relationships‼️

Summary - Theo notices someone being too handsy with GN!Reader in class and gets possessive

Warnings / Mentions - Reader is not in a specific house, no use of Y/n, kind of strangers to lovers? Reader is friends with the golden trio, Harry is the one being touchy, Possessive!Theo, Yandere!Theo, Stalker!Theo (but doesn’t really mention anything creepy except claiming the Reader)

I am willing to make a smutty part two of this if anyone wants it and I hope y’all recognize what I’m loosely referencing in this fic at the end LOL

Requested - No

POV - 1st person

Word Count - 1979

I fiddle with my tie, trying to re-adjust the cloth as it hangs loosely around my neck. I had originally loosened it because it had gotten really hot in the class room but that can be expected when you’re working on potions from time to time.

Harry was assigned to be my potions partner. Ron and Hermione were sat next to us as we read off all the needed ingredients.

Harry begins listing the items while counting them on his fingers in 3s. Once he’s mesmerized part of the ingredients, his eyes drift towards me. His eyebrow quirks up when he sees me struggling with my tie.

Immediately he forgets the stuff we need as he reaches over to my tie, gently removing my hands from the area as he re-adjusts it for me. A small blush forms on my face at how close he has gotten. I can very easily see his scar up close and how his glasses are settled on his nose.

Has he always been this pretty?

As if on command, his hands drop from my tie. I look down at his hands and back up as he gives me a cute but awkward looking smile.

The kind of smile you give someone when you realize just how close you are before moving away.

Harry stands and goes to grab the ingredients.

Hermione smiles at me with a grin that just screams, “I told you he liked you.”

I roll my eyes at her, watching as Ron fucks up something in their potion, causing his eyes to go wide. Hermione’s attention is redirected as she hits the back of his head, pushing him over to fix whatever he’s done.

As I wait for Harry, I look around the room. Some people are already done with their potions, some are restarting. And by restarting, I mean that Seamus’ is covered with dust and his hair is everywhere.

Well now I know why it’s so hot in here.

My eyes wander next to him to see the next table of students. At this table, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott are sitting and just talking.

Looks like they’ve finished their potion.

I realize that Theo is looking at me and quickly look away.

I’ve talked to him a few times before but I really tried to stay away from his friend group. Except Enzo and Blaise, they’re really the only two I get along with well.

Being friends with the golden trio is nice but that just means that Draco’s friend group bitches about it all the damn time.

Harry walks back over, holding a tray in one hand with everything we need. He stands behind me, placing his free hand on my shoulder as he leans over me in order to place the tray on the table.

My eyes widen as a reaction at the touch. It’s not necessarily a touch that most people would think about however, I wasn’t used to people being physical with me.

#TouchStarved, I think to myself before cracking a smile at my own humor.

Theo and Blaise’s table is right behind where Hermione and Ron are sitting so I furrow my eyebrows when I see Theo staring directly at me still.

Ah shit he looks pissed.

I avoid eye contact with him because we all know that a mad Slytherin really isn’t someone you want to be around. Although I can’t help but wonder if he’s pissed at me for something. I never talk to his friends though so there shouldn’t be any problem.

I brush it off as Harry begins speaking.

“Alright. Um- could you hand me that knife?” I nod at his question, grabbing the blade next to me and handing it to him. He nods in appreciation.

Soon enough the potion is done and was a great success. Harry and I were really happy with how it turned out since this would be very important for our grade.

Harry and I smiled at each other and raised our arms, celebrating the victory. Harry’s hands make contact with mine in a double high five. At this I smile even bigger, entwining our hands before he pulls away.

We begin laughing as Ron groans, upset with how his potion was turning out. Hermione rolled her eyes before grinning at the Potter boy and I.

Harry had the greatest idea of standing up from his stool and pulling me to stand with him. Our hands were still locked as he began to make me dance with him. At first we were doing the waltz that we were taught for the Yule ball but after he spinned me, I came back to him and instead of having our hands together, he settled for placing his hands on my hips.

He began using his hands to guide my hips in a very different dance than the waltz.

My hands were around his neck as my hips swayed from the pressure of his hands. And honestly if we were at a party this would seem extremely sexual, but since it’s just Harry and I, it’s platonic fun.

Although it definitely brought yet another blush to my face, but I was like 100% sure that Harry didn’t like me. I think he’s just a very physical person when he becomes close with people.

The Professor looks over at us, staring us down as we both laugh before scrambling away from each other. Rushing to sit down before we got yelled at.

Once the Professor looks away, a note flies over and hits Harry in the glasses. He picks up the note with his eyebrows tensed in confusion. We both look over from where it came from and it was definitely from Theodore Nott.

The only way I could be sure is when I saw him motion for Harry to read the note.

I watch as Harry reads over the words. Clearly becoming more and more confused, stealing glances between me and the note.

“What is it? What’s it say?” I vocalize, inquisitively.

He shakes his head as if he were clearing an echa sketch. But instead of a drawing, he was clearing his thoughts.

“Ah- um- it’s nothing really.” Harry stutters, licking his bottom lip. Which I’ve become aware is one of his nervous signals.

His eyes connect with Theodore, who in return stares back. His stare is clearly more frightening since he has what I like to call “dead eyes”.

Those eyes are absolutely gorgeous but when the light fades from them when he’s pissed, it’s the most terrifying thing.

I make eye contact with Hermione, having a conversation with just our eyes. Asking about what’s happening seeing as the two boys look like they’re holding back to urge to jump the tables and punch each other in the face.

Granger shrugs.

I quickly try to gain control of the situation again by calling the brunettes name. “Harry?”

“Hm?” Instead of breaking eye contact with Nott, he just makes a hum of acknowledgment.

“What’s wrong? What did the note say?” I whisper to him, trying to cover our chat from Theodore.

Potter doesn’t make an effort to say anything, instead he throws the note in front of me to read. I pick up the note and begin reading from left to right.

“Back off from what I’ve been trying to claim.” Is the only sentence written on the piece of parchment.

My mouth drops open in surprise, my mind immediately drawing the dots together like Stiles does in teen wolf.

Man he’s a smart character. But also really stupid.

I get off track with my thinking, refocusing on the important thing at hand.

But honestly, I don’t care all that much. Is that a bad thing?

Now that I know why they’re both death glaring at each other, I can only feel my stomach erupt into butterflies.

I crumple up the note, trying to be sly as I slip it into my pocket but I see as Harry’s jaw clenches and Theo now has a shit eating grin on his face.

It lasts for a couple more seconds before Potter breaks eye contact first, scoffing at the Slytherin. Harry stands abruptly and turns to leave the classroom. Ron following after him as I hear the ginger exclaim, “Bloody hell mate!”

Hermione and I look at each other again, an expression on our faces that is making it very evident that we both thought that was attractive.

Like oh my god, two guys getting jealous and possessive over me.

Perhaps it is wrong to find it attractive but I love feeling wanted.

Class soon ends after that, Harry and Ron never returning back for anything. Hermione is left to pick up after them while I exit the class. Hermione agreed to cleaning up, knowing that my next class is basically across the school and with all the moving staircases and students. It’s just torture to arrive on time.

I walk as swiftly as I can, dodging people and walking between random people in order to reach my destination.

But before I reach my class, a hand is promptly placed on my upper back. I look over my shoulder to see Theodore standing tall over me. His hand still resting on the small of my back, showing his possessive and dominant side. Practically towering over me as he guides me over to a private area.

Which happened to be a janitor’s closet. He opened the door and gently but still roughly shoved me inside. He steps in after me, clicking the lock.

I was about to speak up but he cut me off.

“I want to make you mine.” He said with a completely straight face as he put it bluntly. His voice low and deep as he kept eye contact with me.

I froze with my eyes wide as a small smirk formed on his lips.

“What? Cats got your tongue, Amore Mio”

Oh okay that got me a little bit.

I feel a small wave of attraction wash over me, something so intense for just a moment it could visually be seen in my eyes.

“Oh oh ohhhh, you like it when I speak Italian don’t you, Dolcezza?” He inquires, his eyes searching my face for some kind of a reaction as a smile grows on him.

And the answer to that question is 1000% yes but why would I admit that???

Unfortunately my body betrays me as I swallow anxiously, giving him the flustered response he was hoping for.

He could literally be calling me a cunt in Italian and I wouldn’t know except based on his tone but I would still find it attractive.

His captivating eyes look down at my lips as he closes the space between us. He slowly looks back up into my eyes as he gets on his knees in front of me.

Oh I like that too.

Theo grabs my arm gently, placing a kiss on my inner wrist as he still keeps eye contact.

My stomach flips and I shuffle a little closer to him.

“Can I kiss you?” He questions, and holy shit I swear to god if he doesn’t look away I will because his eyes are literally hypnotic.

I nod but it’s not enough for him. His eyes are trained on me, pulling me down to be level with his height.

“Words.” Is all he says. Yet it’s such a powerful thing for me to hear right now.

“Yes, yes you can kiss me.” My face heats up, I turn my head away from him out of embarrassment. But he just grabs my face with his hands, aligning the kiss.

He hovers over my lips for a moment,

“If I wasn’t about to kiss you, I would’ve beat Harry bloody for the way he touched you.”

And just like that, our lips meet.

#slytherin boys #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #yandere theodore nott #theodore nott #harry potter #possessive #stalker #yandere #lorenzo zurzolo

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dnd-writes · 6 months

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Boulevard of Broken Dreams - Pt. 1

AO3

Tags: Non-con, this whole fic is just one whole degenerate lump of non-con, so warning all of you already at the beginning. BFH, very degenerate, unedited, Third-person PoV (cause easier that way), sex slave!Julie, sex slave!Natty, sex slave!Belle, sex slave!Haneul, sex slave!Kiss of Life, sexual slavery, sexual exploitation, contract manipulation, clothing control, slapping, punching, kicking, spitting, deflowering, anal deflowering, painal, dry vaginal sex, facefucking, cum on food, frozen dildos, I think that's all or most of it but you get the point

A/N: 1. First of all, thank you to @fillinforlater for the fic idea. Idk what the fuck happened, at first I was following the plot he laid out, then I changed this part, then I added this part, then this, then that, and I blink and all of a sudden I have this monstrosity of a fic 2. Fic has nothing to do with the song, just thought it would fit as a title 3. If anyone asks, for this fic I "changed the timeline" of KIOF's pre-debut stuff to essentially fit in June 2023, cause y'know, Haneul. 4. Part 1 cause Smite's prompt had a second part that I also want to write but it's gotten so long I decided to split the fic into two? parts.

It’s finally happened, she’s finally done it! After years of hardships and struggles Natty has finally achieved her goal of being in a K-pop girl group, the dream she once thought to be impossible now becoming a reality as she takes the pen and puts her signature down on the contract with tears filling her eyes. Some might call her crazy or an overreactor for bawling out but for someone who has gotten eliminated in the finals of not one but two survival shows, tears of joy sound like a reasonable reaction.

Although Natty has already spent nearly a decade training, she is still looking forward to training more with her new groupmates. Even if it might take a decade more, as long as her dream comes alive, to her it’s all worth it.

Natty expected to be surprised on her first day but she wasn’t ready to face what was in store for her. Having been a trainee for almost half her life, there’s no doubt that Natty has heard rumors about the industry, the drastic measures required to stay in form, the horrible things that happen away from prying eyes, the exploitation, the harassment. Though to her, they were all just rumors, just silly little things that people made up, little did she know that the rumors were just a teaser of what’s to come.

Natty goes through the front doors but instead of the vibrant and cheerful place she visited not long ago, the company now has a faint and eerie atmosphere. Lights are off, not a sign of any person in the immediate vicinity, it’s like the place never was alive to begin with. “Maybe I just came in at a wrong time,” she thinks as she navigates her way to her destination. Natty ascends to the fifth floor and as she makes it there, she hears subtle heavy breathing echoing along the halls. She decides not to get too curious and instead looks for the meeting place.

Natty stands just outside the door with a large smile prepared on her face, “This is it,” she tells herself as she gets ready to meet her new sisters. Her jolly expression quickly fades as she breaches the door, sitting inside are two of her three new groupmates. While very excited to finally meet them for the first time, what catches her attention the most are their outfits—both of them revealing way too much skin, a stark contrast to the jacket and jeans she has on. One of them is wearing booty shorts and a crop top cut short enough to barely cover her nipples and Natty notices that she doesn’t seem to have a bra underneath it. And all she can see on the other is a large red shirt barely making its way past her hips.

Natty forces back a smile, trying to regain the excitement she previously had. There’s just four seats in the middle of the room all facing each other and Natty takes one of the two empty ones. It was awkward at first but the tension slowly dissipated as the three began talking, though a sense of eeriness still lingers behind. They start off introducing themselves to each other and Natty quickly learns that it’s Haneul who is wearing the crop top and Belle is the one wearing the red shirt. Once they got the awkward introductions out of the way, they proceeded to talk about random things. They start to talk about their lives now, their lives as trainees in previous companies, how the two knew of Natty in her time in survival shows. Although, every time Natty would try to talk about their outfits, they would pause and take a deep breath but then they would either play it off as if it was a normal thing or just change the subject entirely.

With no obstructions between them, Natty can’t help but notice some details with their apparent choices of clothing. Natty doesn’t know if she’s just imagining it but when she looks at Haneul’s crop top, she swears she can see a hint of darkness which she can only guess to be are areolas. Then there’s Belle who is sitting in the chair across from her, her short red shirt hikes even higher up her body while she sits down and Natty can see, clear as day, Belle’s pussy just hanging in the breeze. Natty tries to ask her about it but Belle just looks at her as if she was a crazy person.

Eventually the last member arrives, Natty somewhat expected her to also be similarly dressed which she is but the state she came into the room in was what shocked her the most. The last member arrives wearing a yellow sundress though from the looks of it, it might be a size or two too small. As she stands there trying to introduce herself to Natty, she keeps on adjusting her dress, struggling between pulling it over her chest or pulling it below her hips. But her attire is the least alarming part, her hair is all frizzled, her lipstick is smeared, and there’s drops of liquid dripping from between her legs. Natty forces another smile as all four of them start to talk together. The mystery girl introduces herself as Julie, their new leader. Julie takes the remaining seat and, similar to Belle, her dress hikes up, even higher compared to Belle’s shirt, and Julie’s pussy is visible to everyone. No one comments on it but Natty quickly sees that a pool of white is forming between Julie’s legs and it seems to come from her pussy and her butt.

Natty was right in that her first day would be full of surprises, though she did not expect to be such horrible and gut wrenching surprises. On her way home, she starts to recall the rumors she has heard over the years and after thinking back to what she saw earlier, they’re starting to become less like rumors and more like the harsh reality of the industry. But Natty brushes the thoughts aside, thinking to herself that her dream of being part of a K-pop group is being fulfilled and if it means even worse and troubling obstacles, then she will just overcome them too. She has had years of training, what’s a questionable dress code compared to that?

The next day arrives and Natty tries to remain optimistic, wearing another bright smile as she enters the practice room, though just like the day before it quickly drops. There’s a fifth person joining them that day and Natty can only assume he’s their choreographer only except he’s wearing nothing but shorts. While his toned body is in no doubt hot and amazing, given the situation and the very very prominent tent he’s sporting, Natty is deeply disturbed.

She says hi to him and then at her group mates who she has just noticed are still wearing the same outfits as the day before albeit with some slight changes—Haneul’s isn’t even covering her chest anymore, just dangling like a necklace above her shoulders; Belle’s red shirt has streaks of white all over the front; and Julie’s dress has a rip at the top as if her breasts were breaking free. Natty couldn’t even find the time to feel sorry for them as the man starts to talk to her as she comes in. “Hey, you’re the new girl right? What are you wearing?”

Natty stands frozen in place. She hasn’t gotten any sort of instructions or clothing to wear. Has she missed something?

The man carries some papers over to her. “Did you not read this?” Natty recognizes the papers he’s holding, it’s the contract she signed. He flips through the pages and gives it to her, “See? Right here.” He points at the clause labeled “Attire” and Natty reads through the fine print. “In the company, the members should wear what is given to them or any clothing that they have. Provided that their tops have sleeves not longer than 10 cm and bottoms not longer than 20 cm.” With just her luck, she’s wearing a sweater and jeans that day. Natty couldn’t believe this, she remembers reading every detail of the contract but not once has she seen this. Natty continues to read the page and the next clause is labeled “Sex.” It reads, “The members cannot object to their bodies being touched or used by the employees of S2 Entertainment. The members must follow every order given to them, whether they are willing to do so or not. If the task is impossible to do, the members must accomplish it to the best of their ability. None of this can be mentioned to anyone outside of S2 Entertainment.” Natty could not believe her eyes, such inhuman clauses on her own contract. She hastily checks the last page and there sits her signature, bright as day. She looks at the others in disbelief but they can only stare right back at her with empty expressions.

The man grabs the papers back. “Well? The clothes we have are still in the laundry, so unless you have spare clothes with you or something, the only solution is to undress.” Natty looks at the others again for help but they just shake their heads and Julie mouths “Sorry” to her. “Are you going to do something about it or do you want me to take care of it?” Driven by fear of getting manhandled, Natty turns around and rushes to take her clothes off. Even with her back to everyone, she can feel the stares stabbing into her back. She feels so sick and dirty as she takes her sweater off and as she shimmies her pants off of her hips, she doesn’t realize she was involuntarily shaking her ass for everyone not until the man squeezes her butt.

Natty shivers in the cold room but it pales in comparison to being just in her underwear. Though it’s just the choreographer she has to be worried about, the lustful stare he gives her is enough to make her cry. Julie tries to console Natty but not a second later Natty hears a slap echo in the room, she looks up to see the choreographer in front of Julie who’s holding the side of her face.

The rest of the day goes pretty ok given the circumstances, mostly just going over the song and the choreography that went along with it, though their instructor occasionally helped himself to cop a feel while teaching and he seemed to be most interested in Natty, always focusing on her mistakes, groping and feeling every inch of her body as he “teaches” the dance.

The next day, Natty moves into the group’s dorm. “This time, it will be better,” she tells herself, maintaining that bright and optimistic perspective on life. She hopes that in the dorm it will be much funner and freeing, just her and her group mates living together and hanging out all the time.

She opens the door and peers inside, to her surprise it’s really clean and quiet. Although she’s been very optimistic about things, deep down she was expecting similar horrors to what she has seen the previous days and seeing such a pristine and spacious living space is enough of a relief for her. After bringing her things through the door, Natty explores the place. In the living room there’s a huge flatscreen TV and a couch big enough to fit more than four people, and in the kitchen there’s lots of space available and a big fridge. Natty checks the fridge and salivates seeing lots of veggies and drinks inside, then she checks the freezer and almost falls to her knees from hunger seeing all the meat. Natty was about to slam the door shut when she notices a red dildo slightly hidden in one of the layers, she gives it a touch and confirms that it is ice cold. She blushes slightly, thinking that one of her group mates is kinky like that.

Natty hops over to the rooms, excited to see what those are like after seeing how extravagant the common areas are. She first checks on the room to the right, as she goes in she’s met with a very odd-looking room, half is very bland and empty while the other half is very decorated. “This must be my side,” she whispers while looking at the empty space. Over in the decorated half she sees Haneul fast asleep in her bed, seeing her wearing pajamas and not some skimpy outfit brings a smile to her face.

Natty closes the door gently as she makes her way to the next room. She barges through the door and immediately regrets it, the dorm which she expected to be their “safe space” away from the shit they have to go through at the company, turns out to just be an elegant looking prison. Natty was so happy about the place but unfortunately, it was too good to be true.

Natty sees three people all in one bed. Nearest to her is Belle, lying on her back and sobbing into her hands while a red dildo is shoved in her ass. Next to her is Julie and some man relentlessly pounding into her from behind. Only the man reacts to Natty’s arrival, looking over his shoulder to smile at Natty, it’s a different man, one Natty hasn’t met before. “Hi, Natty… I’m your… manager… Will you be a good girl and… pull that out of Belle?”

Natty should feel offended by such a crude question but after a week of “training,” she’s gotten to know better. Disgusted and disturbed yet Natty still drags her feet across the floor towards the three of them. “Just pull it out but do it slowly, don’t want to hurt her… even more,” he quickly adds the last part, chuckling as he does so, clearly enjoying himself at the expense of Julie’s and Belle’s pain.

Natty glances at Belle, her face hidden in her hands, her body red and blue all over, her ass adorned with a bright red toy. She touches the base and immediately recalls her hand, it’s cold, ice cold. Natty considers herself a fool for even thinking for a moment that the freezer dildo was a kink thing, perhaps it might, but not for the person she thought it to be.

Belle’s quiet sobs turn to whines as Natty starts pulling the dildo out, the sound alone is enough to bring tears to Natty’s eyes, knowing that even though she’s helping, she’s still causing some pain. Natty continues to pull but at her slow pace it feels like it would take forever, she doesn’t even know how long the dildo is and as more inches get pulled out, the more worried she gets knowing how far it was in Belle and how much it could have hurt.

Finally she pulls the thing out which calms Belle, her asshole closes back up, her body relaxes, and her cries die down. Natty looks at the dildo in her hand, the thing is almost as long as her forearm, she quickly throws it away and out of her sight.

Their manager turns to see that Natty has done what he requested, he gives Belle a slap on the ass and then Natty a pat on the head. “Oh nice… you’re a good girl... Natty… So here’s… your reward…” Before Natty could process anything he said or did, she feels her hair being yanked and her face quickly diving towards the bed. He makes her face to the side and starts to paint Natty in his cum. She hasn’t felt cum yet, let alone seen a dick in person, but the warmth and stench it leaves is enough for her to hate it.

“Wake Haneul up and have her clean you up, or you could just drink it all yourself, I wouldn’t mind. Just make sure to record, ok? When you’re done, Natty, meet me in my room, it’s at the end of the hall.”

And just like that he leaves, satisfied and so full of himself, while the three girls lay exhausted and broken.

Julie is the first one to recover among the three of them. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll go get Haneul, he hates waiting too long.” Before Julie can step away, Natty grabs her wrist. “N-No! I’ll do it. I’ll… try to do it.”

“You sure? Alright then. My advice is just do it quickly. Hwaiting.” Julie flashes a weak smile and raises her fist for encouragement and Natty reciprocates the action.

Julie takes her phone and starts recording. Natty sits at the edge of the bed with Belle just slightly out of the shot. Natty scoops up all the cum on the side of her face, just doing so disgusts her immensely. With most of the white liquid in her palm, she puts everything in her mouth and gulps it all down. For a second all is well but the aftertaste hits her like a truck and she starts coughing again and again. She expected to hate it but it was beyond awful. Only when Natty calms down does Julie stop recording.

“Go to his room, it’s on the left. I’ll just put this back in the freezer,” says Julie as she picks up the dildo from the floor.

“He hates waiting.” Natty repeats, with no time to rest, she gets to her feet and moves to the manager’s room. Natty’s hand reaches for the doorknob but she stops herself before she can even touch it. This time around she opts to knock instead of just barging in. “Come in,” says the voice from the other side. Natty enters the room, it looks much bigger and more grand than the other rooms, a bigger bed, a TV, a mini-fridge, it was practically its own apartment. “So nice of you to knock, you’re still dressed but that’s an easy fix.”

She notices him ruffling through some stuff in his drawer, she tries to take a peek but he closes it before she can see what was inside. In his hands are a remote and a collar with her name on it. “We just met a few minutes ago but I think you’re my favorite already.” He puts the collar on her, tightening it so it fits exactly around her neck. “Whenever you’re here at the dorm, you have to wear this, ok? And everytime I press this button.” He raises the remote and clicks it, sending a small stinging sensation to Natty’s neck. “You have to come to me. It’s only at one right now but if you’re not here within five minutes of me clicking it, it goes up by one, permanently.” Natty gulps but with the collar snug around her neck, it made it a little uncomfortable.

“Ok so where’s the video?”

“Ah, Ju-”

As her name is mentioned, Julie barges into the room, phone outstretched with the video ready to play.

“Ah, there it is. Thank you, Julie.” Julie hands her phone over and stands in place, like a robot waiting for her next command. “Aww, look at Belle sleeping so peacefully. Oh wonderful, drinking it all by yourself. See, I knew you would be my favorite.” He hands the phone back to Julie and she starts to leave but before she makes it out he issues one final order for her. “Julie, be a dear and get Haneul. She’s been sleeping all day, I haven’t had my fun with her yet. Actually, you know what? Now that Natty’s here, just get everyone.”

With just the two of them left in the room, he walks over to Natty. Seeing his erect dick twitching so much causes her to involuntarily step backwards and his brows suddenly furrow. “Now, now, Natty.” The sudden change in his tone and expression is enough to strike fear in her heart, afraid of a punishment she puts her foot back to its original spot causing his smile to return.

“Sweaters. Always so annoying, I heard you’re huge but I can’t really tell with that stupid thing hiding your tits. From now on in the dorm, Natty, only wear tight tops. Oh, better yet, no tops at all. The only thing I want to see you wearing above your hips is that collar.”

Instantly Natty’s hands start to move, getting rid of any clothing on her torso as soon as the new rule is implemented. She can see it in his eyes, hunger ever growing with each article of clothing she removes. As soon as her shirt comes off, he starts salivating. “My, oh my, you’re huge. Looks like Julie’s got competition.” Natty reaches behind herself to unhook her bra but pauses for a moment, she realizes this is the first time she would show her breasts to anyone, many have touched and played with them at the company but not one has unveiled her boobs. As her bra falls, his dick twitches in excitement.

The rest of the group arrives. Belle is the first to enter, her legs very tired and her ass still very sore. Next comes Haneul, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Last is Julie, her head held high and her face serious, looking like a guard rounding up the inmates although she isn’t any less of a prisoner compared to the other girls in the room. The four just stand in silence like mannequins and their manager walks around and gropes whatever he pleases as if doing some inspection.

“Haneul… what did we say?” says the manager very disappointedly. His tone shocks her awake, “I-I’m sorry,” she bows then starts getting out of her clothes. He scoots over to her and slaps her in the face. “I’ll let you off easy this time since Natty’s finally here but I’m doubling the next punishment.”

After Haneul, he moves over to Belle, whose legs are barely keeping her standing. “You cross me again, I’ll make sure you won’t even be able to walk for the rest of the day.” He punches Belle and she easily drops to the ground sobbing, he kicks her while she’s down to add insult to injury. Natty can only shiver upon hearing everything happen behind her, does she even want to know what Belle did to make him so mad?

He moves over to Julie and the first thing he does is spit on her face then he uses his fingers to smear it all over. Julie keeps her composure, just closing her eyes as he plays with her face, not flinching or whining at all. “You should thank Natty for being here, ‘cause you’ll finally have some time to rest.” His hands cup her breasts, giving them a proper feel before he moves on to a bigger and better pair.

Finally he comes back around to Natty, the only person in the room with any piece of clothing still on. “Tell me, Natty… Have you fucked before?” Natty gulps again knowing the implications, though it was bound to happen eventually. She shakes her head and he smiles. “Oh, a virgin? So many people in that building and not one has fucked you? Well their loss, we’re gonna have so much fun together.”

“Change of plans girls, looks like I need some ‘catching up’ to do with Natty. Go do whatever you want for now, we’ll be here for a full day or two.”

But just before he dismisses them, he goes back to Belle, still on the ground holding her side. He spits on her face too but this time he uses his foot to smear her face. “Don’t think I’m done with you just yet. Be ready for your final ‘lesson’ when I’m done with Natty. Now go, all three of you, leave.”

It’s wicked really, how sick and twisted all of this is, all the expectations Natty had, completely flipped around. Shining eyes looking up to her turns out to be lustful stares looking down, helping hands turn out to be forceful gropes, and managers turn out to be owners. Natty looks over her shoulder with tears starting to form in her eyes, though her hands remain still, her stare acts like a hand reaching out to save her from the depths of hell but alas, all Haneul and Julie could do is return similar sad gestures as they carry Belle away.

The manager locks the door as the three leave and immediately gets back to Natty, even with all the time in the world at his disposal, he wouldn’t want to waste a single second. With the rest of the group gone, Natty feels even more miniscule and useless, even more of a toy as his gaze is solely on her. He comes up behind her and fills his hands with her tits, with Julie’s he can still grasp the whole thing in his hands but Natty’s can barely be fully contained. He starts to fondle and play with her nipples while slowly moving his mouth closer to her neck.

Natty easily starts to moan loudly, she wants to keep quiet to avoid giving him that pleasure but her complete lack of experience and the resulting lack of tolerance betrays her. He sniffs along her neck, “You smell so good and your tits… so fucking soft.” He finds a patch of skin along the front of her neck and starts to kiss and suckle on it, Natty explodes into a moaning mess, shouting in pleasure as if she’s having the time of her life.

The pleasure gets cut short as his hands move down to her waist. “Sweatpants… another cock blocker. From now on, just don’t wear anything, Natty. Your body is so hot and irresistible, wouldn’t want any clothes hiding your beauty. Don’t worry about getting cold, just come to me and you’ll be warmed up in no time.” His fingers slip into the waistbands and he slides both her underwear and her sweatpants down to the ground. He’s the first one to see her tits and now he’s also the first one to see her bare ass and pussy. As much as she doesn't want to think about it, he probably will be the first dick she takes in every hole.

The manager circles Natty slack-jawed and wide-eyed as if admiring a sculpture he has just made. “Fat ass, soft and heavy tits, pretty face. You’re just the perfect little toy, aren’t you? And a virgin too, just the absolute best, if I could I would just own you forever but sadly I’ve got a job to do. Although… maybe I can have you be my roommate instead of Haneul’s, that’s probably the closest I’ll get.” He leans down and frowns at what he sees. “Unshaved, unfortunate, guess you can’t have absolutely everything but it’ll do. First thing I want you to do when you’re out of this room is get that shaved, got it?” Natty’s been unmoving and frozen in place for so long that it takes her a second before nodding her head.

The manager pushes Natty onto the bed then flips her to face him. Her full body is on display for him, each delicacy just sitting idle like food in a buffet, up for grabs at any time. He licks his lips as he considers his options.

“Two virgin holes, which to try first? The other three bitches came here already used, so this will be a first for you and me.” He slaps his dick against her pussy, grinding on it and feeling the slight hint of wetness it’s giving off. Next he considers her asshole, very puckered and looking very small compared to the head of his cock as he pokes her with it. He licks a finger and prods inside, the way his finger barely pushes through excites him and the way Natty winces seals the deal for him.

He lifts Natty’s legs up and hooks them over his shoulders, giving him a perfect angle to ravage her ass. He lines himself up and slowly pushes his way in, not even bothering to spread her cheeks to mitigate the tightness. Natty is already breathing heavily as she feels her asshole stretching to accommodate him. “Please,” she begs. “It… It won’t fit.”

He just smiles and caresses her cheek. “That’s the fun part, a tiny virgin asshole broken open by my cock. I’m gonna remember this forever.”

As soon as Natty’s sphincter spreads wide enough for his girth, he shoves the whole thing inside. “AHHHH!!! TAKE IT OUT! TAKE IT OUT!” Natty fires a blood-curdling scream as his cock swiftly overwhelms her. It hurt for him too given how dry her butt is but only barely, plus her cries only work to alleviate him.

He locks her legs in his arms and her hips in his hands to keep her from moving. Her hands might be free but Natty doesn’t have the strength or the courage to lift them up. Her ass feels like it’s on fire from the dry friction between the two of them. To her, it’s like hell. To him, the fire feels like an invigorating force.

Her anal walls hug him so tightly, it’s like Natty’s ass is begging him to fill her up and who is he to turn down such a request. Her ass is so tight, it’s practically milking him dry, any tighter and he might not be able to pull out. In just a few minutes he starts to orgasm, the hardest and fastest one he’s had with any of the four girls. He pulls out and scrambles to find his phone, wanting to cherish this moment forever. “Second load of cum and many more to go. You’re gonna be such a wonderful cum bucket, Natty, milking me everyday. You’re going to love my cum and my dick in no time.”

Natty tries to stand, to do something, anything, but her body is just worn out already, completely exhausted, completely given up. The manager, on the other hand, is the exact opposite, even after tearing Natty’s asshole apart, he’s still hard and ready for another round. This time he has his eyes set on her cherished virginity.

He hooks her legs back onto his shoulders but this time he carries her then pins her to the wall with her wrists bound by his hand above her head. While flexibility isn’t a problem for Natty, she is now face to face with her assaulter. She closes her eyes and looks away but that doesn’t stop her from feeling his hot breath on her face. His tongue pokes out and licks along her cheek, tasting her tears and her sweat, he leaves a trail of his saliva as he travels from her jaw to her ear. “So salty, so delicious. Everything about you is so delicious, you know that? Now I’m gonna enjoy fucking your pussy, I’m gonna see just how tight you fucking are.”

Tears fall nonstop from her eyes. Natty’s sobbing grows strong as she feels his heat pressing against hers. She so badly wants to beg him to stop, to let her rest, but her voice can’t manage to form words and she knows he wouldn’t listen anyway.

He lines himself up with her folds and in one swift motion, he pistons his cock inside. “AHHHH!!! FUCK! PLEASE!!!” her voice only manages to come back during moments of intense pain. “Oh, Natty, your cunt. Fuuuuuuck, that’s the best pussy ever.” Her pussy is heavenly, it’s so tight that it’s almost orgasmic when he penetrates her. He just loves the way Natty squeezes around him. He also loves hearing her cry out in pain, to him it’s like a choir of angels. He relishes in the feeling of Natty’s pussy, living in his own twisted version of heaven.

As he pounds into her from below, Natty’s tits bounce freely in front of him and he doesn’t waste a second as his mouth latches onto her chest, after all, a little side dish won’t hurt while he enjoys the main meal. He bites her nipples, pulling and squeezing them with his teeth, only adding more pain to what Natty is already experiencing.

The two of them fucked endlessly in that locked room while the other three finally got some rest, though they couldn’t quite live in blissful harmony as Natty’s screaming kept them aware of their situation, the walls were thin enough to let Natty’s wails of terror flood the whole dorm. While the other three girls were able to sleep through it, in the morning they still heard Natty screaming and begging, though her voice much weaker and hoarser.

There’s just so much to do with Natty, just pure lust and adrenaline fueling the manager all throughout the night. All the positions he could take her in, all the things he can do, all the possibilities, everything that Natty’s body can offer, he takes. He fucked her all over the room, didn’t even matter how or where, he just slams her down somewhere and fucks her in whatever hole he felt fit. He fucked her face against the wall, then fucked her ass while he pressed her face onto the floor, then fucked her pussy while missionary on the floor, then fucked her ass doggystyle on the bed, then fucked her face while her head hung off the bed, then fucked her ass in the shower. Just so much cum in and on her body in the span of a couple of hours and yet he is still going strong.

The next day comes around and there doesn’t seem to be any lapse in their action. Stretching from before the rise of the sun all the way to after it set, just endless screaming of pure pain and agony coming from Natty. The only time the manager interacted with the rest of the girls was when he asked Julie to cook up a meal for them. The door finally opened again for the first time in two days as Julie brought her cooking.

“Ah, pork belly, I’m starving. Thank you so much, Julie. I see you’ve gotten comfortable without me pestering you all the time,” he says as he sees Julie wearing some pajamas. “Oh, two plates? We won’t be needing that,” he chuckles as he returns the second set of utensils as well. Just before the door closes, Julie takes a peek over his shoulder and sees Natty practically lifeless on the floor. The manager gives Julie a quick smile, proud of his own work, then locks the door.

The manager walks over to the bed and nudges Natty with his foot before getting himself comfortable. Natty, almost void of all energy, springs to life as she smells the delicious food. Natty sits patiently, silently jealous as she stares at her manager eating all by himself. He points to his dick and Natty can only sigh as she lowers her face in front of it.

The manager puts his hand on the back of her head and Natty opens her mouth, but instead of pushing down he says, “Let’s play a game, Natty. If you make me cum before I finish the food, you can have the rest of it.”

Natty doesn’t exactly have much knowledge on how to pleasure a dick, her only experience being the one dick that’s been forced in her body the past two days. She’s already come to terms with the fact that she might not eat for two days straight but regardless she tries her best.

Natty employs the small pieces of advice she’s heard him tell her. Even though she’s basically just moving her head along his length, judging from his moans he seems to be enjoying it so she goes faster.

“Fuck, Natty. Fuck… I’m gonna cum…” He takes over this time, gripping the back of her head as she immediately chokes. “Don’t… swallow it, fuck.” He struggles to squeeze his words out of his mouth as another orgasm makes its way into Natty’s mouth, only this time around it pools on her tongue. She already hates cum to begin with, cringing inside whenever she would taste it but with a whole load lingering in her mouth, revolting is an understatement. She struggles to hold it all in, not just because of the taste but also because of how much he gave her, her cheeks are full and just a little more it would probably overflow.

He holds the plate of what’s about a quarter of the total meat still left on it. “Spit,” he commands and without hesitation she opens her mouth and deposits the batch onto the plate. “Go on, everything, spit into it.” She does as ordered, mixing the remnants with saliva and spitting onto the food. He spits onto the plate as well and mixes the meat with the “sauce” then puts it on the other side of the bed from her. “Go eat.”

Natty tries to get up and walk to the other side but the manager has other plans. He grabs her hair again and pulls her across the bed, forcing her to kneel down. “Come on, eat up.” He moves over behind her and lines up with her pussy. “Don’t waste anything, when you’re done I want that plate clean.” Natty stares at the disgusting abomination in front of her and she feels even more disgusted and degraded knowing that even when it comes to food she’s being treated like a dog. Her stomach gurgles, no matter how disgusting the food may be, she still has to eat. Natty tries to look at the brighter side of things, at the very least she’s eating actual food and not some slop that looks inedible.

On the third day of her imprisonment, Natty is completely exhausted and broken. She just lies on her back, barely even reacting to anything her manager does anymore, there’s cum on almost every inch of her body and yet she doesn’t bother to clean it.

Julie knocks to bring them breakfast, the manager gets the door but instead of just taking the food he tells Julie to give it to Natty. “She’s not fun anymore so I’ll be going back to you guys. And besides, the company is looking for her, can’t have her here forever.” As soon as the manager leaves, Julie rushes over to Natty and tends to her.

The manager, clearly unsatisfied with Natty’s unresponsiveness and clearly needing a release, turns to Belle for release.

“AHHH!!! Wait, no, please… I’m sorry.” He barges into her room and she immediately shrieks upon seeing him. In the short span of two days, she’s gotten used to not being around him but here he is to remind her of her place. “I promise I won’t do it again, I—” She tries to get away but she’s stuck in the corner and all she can do is sink herself further into it. He doesn’t stop or even think for a second about what he’s doing, he just walks up and punches her face, adding another bruise to the multiple he’s given her.

“Haneul? Get in here!” he shouts at the top of his lungs. While waiting, he pulls Belle’s face to the edge of the bed and starts facefucking her, all the while alternating between slapping her tits and punching her pussy.

“Haneul?!” he calls again after a few minutes. After cumming down Belle’s throat and Haneul still hasn’t arrived, he marches over to her room. Not really to his surprise, he finds Haneul sleeping soundly in her bed. For one second he smiles, admiring her beauty before proceeding to ruin it.

He punches her which brings her wide awake. He tugs her hair to bring her face close to his. “Always sleeping, you lazy cunt. Maybe you need a lesson too.” Haneul screams and thrashes as she’s dragged across the floor by her hair towards Belle’s room.

The next few days and weeks go by with the members somewhat getting used to and coping with the treatment that they are going through. Lots of practicing and “training” happens at the company, mostly the latter, then their manager has fun with them at the dorm. At the very least their manager is kind, all things considered, just as long as they follow his orders, so they still get to somewhat relax at the dorm. And whenever no one is using their bodies, the girls hang out, talk with each other, and comfort each other, growing a bond and giving each other hope to carry on until they debut.

The month ends and it’s finally time for Kiss of Life to debut. The four are no doubt incredibly excited, they finally get to wear clothes that cover most of their body, finally have some time away from the perverts, and most of all, they finally get to debut and live out their dreams of being K-pop idols, though little do they know what their company still has in store for them, even in public view.

A/N 2: So if you made it here, congratulations, you're as much of a degenerate as I am :). Anyway, while part 1 is mostly focused on Natty, part 2 would likely be four "mini-fics" in one, each focusing on one member. Subject to change but most likely it would be like that

#kpop #kpop smut #kiss of life #kiss of life smut #natty #natty smut #julie #julie smut #belle #belle smut #haneul #haneul smut

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prettiestgrlinthemorguexo · 3 months

Note

fic where baker reader and lucifer both really like each other but are too scared to admit their feelings so reader makes him a cupcake with a frosting duck on top as a surprise

Sweet duckcakes ( Lucifer Morningstar x Baker! Reader)

Thank you for the request anonymous! This is such a cute idea myself!!! Feel free to leave more request

Idk why but I feel like Lucifer would love the duck cake from Bluey.

I legit accidentally deleted this half way through writing it, I could cry

NOT PROOF READ!!

Warnings: stealing my baker reader stuff on how they started working in the hotel from my last fic, season 2 headcanon

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

No ones POV:

Y/N has been working in the Hazbin hotel since day one, only then it was called ‘Happy Hotel’ Charlie employed them to be the head chef, prepare meals of staff and residents. It also meant Y/N could stay rent free so they accepted. Only then, back when it was only them, Charlie, Vaggie and the only resident, Angel dust. But as time has past, the Hotel has become more lively. Alastor, Husk and Nifty join the staff and another resident named Sir Pentious.

Even though Y/N was happy to see Charlie’s dreamed come true, but with each new person in the hotel mean more and more food to make, they were almost nearly in the kitchen all the time but they didn’t mind.

With the extermination looming closer, Charlie had no choice but to call her dad for help. Y/N was happy to know he accepted to come, To prepare for his visit Charlie asked Y/N to bake for his visit, which they happily did. They quickly run into the kitchen with Nifty following behind, she wanted to make cookies. Y/N and Nifty baked away, while nifty worked on cookies, Y/N chose cupcakes!

Nifty finshed first and ran into the main room while they stay behind so they could decorate the cupcakes. After 30 minutes they were done and they took them to the main room. As they turned the corner they see a rather weird sight…Alastor and Lucifer is a battle on who’s the better father. Y/N kinda stood there watching the two with everyone else till they were interrupted by someone named Mimsy, this finally allowed them to meet Lucifer.

“Dad, this Y/N, our head chef!” Charlie moves her dad over to them and they give a sweet smile to him. “It’s nice to finally meet you your majesty.”, as they said this they moved their tray to one hand and extended their now free hand, they took notice of Lucifer’s small blush. He took your hand, Y/N couldn’t help but notice his soft hands, “please call me Lucifer.” He said to you with a smile. “Why thank you..” they said to him as they remembered the treats. “Oh!” They said mainly to themself, they hold out the tray. “Please take one I made these for your visit.”

Lucifer took the treat in his hand looking over it, it had red frosting with a little apple slice in it. “Why thank you.” Lucifer said as he took one of the frosted treat and took a bite of it. He eyes life up as he tasted it. “This is amazing!” He said as he ate, Y/N couldn’t help but feel their heart race as this words. “They’re’s a reason they are the head chef! Now to the rest of the hotel,” Charlie continued to speak and show off the hotel. Y/N place the tray down on the nearby table and as they turn they couldn’t help but notice his eyes on them, they blushed and felt their own heart race.

Little did they know that was only the beginning. After his eventful visit, where him and Charlie both agreed to make an effort, he was in the hotel more. While he spent time with his daughter he always saw Y/N, he was great company to have, always so sweet. It was hard to admit they had growing feeling for him, how could they? He was her bosses father and the king of hell.

It only became worst after the hotel was destroyed and was rebuilt, during the process of rebuilding it, Lucifer moved in. Though Y/N believed it would be a blessing in disguise. You guys were frequently hanging out together, he was always so sweet, he loved to help cook and back with you. Y/N was very thankful for that considering how many more people were not in the hotel, but, this only has their feeling grow more…both their feelings. Lucifer would be lying if he said he didn’t like Y/N they were a dove…the light in the dark.

There were many nights they work yourself too hard and feel alseep in the kitchen only to wake up on one of the couches with a blanket they recognized…it belong to Lucifer. Each time they wanted to keep it, it smelled just like him, but, each time they returned it. They leave it folded with a nice little note. Lucifer loved the notes keeping them in a box, he also sleeps with each blanket, he smell of your are your perfume is intoxicating.

Though pretty much everyone was aware of both their feelings for each other neither would admit it, so in fashion of the residents of the hotel, they decided to help by dropping small (rather obvious) hints, though Charlie was the most discreet about her hints, mainly at hinting at things to you both like, similar interests you things both like. One thing Y/N took of something from Charlie’s and from Lucifer himself…he seem to really love ducks, from gifting them rubber ducks and leaving rubber ducks around the hotel.

One night after making up on the couch with a certain blanket on them, they had to thank him and a perfect idea came into their head. They Return the blanket back with another note, Y/N quickly made their way into the kitchen, ready to bake their morning away for Lucifer’s surprise.

TIME SKIP

Lucifer woke up to the sound of soft knocking, he recognized this knock, it was Y/N’s. He quickly shot up out of his bed running to the door. He nearly swung open the door to see your face, what a perfect thing to make up to, “good morning do-“ Lucifer stopped mid sentence noticing a gray with a cover in their hands, he looked back up at their E/C eyes. “What’s that?” He asked curiously. Y/N could help but smile he looked so handsome after waking up. (He wears duckie pajamas.) “may I come in?” Y/N asked happily, Lucifer blushed softly and nodded his head moving out of the way of the door “o-of course come in!”

Y/N walked in admiring his room, it was so elegant looking, they then turned to face him “I want to say thank you for always taking care of me, not leaving me to sleep in the kitchen floor means a lot to me, so, I want to say thank you.” They said as they placed the tray down on the dresser. “And I know you love ducks so..” Y/N them wiped off the cover revealing 6 cupcakes! Not just any cupcakes, they were Vanilla cupcakes with yellow frosting and on top were little ducks made of frosting. Lucifer looked wides eyed at them, before look at their smiling face. “You made these for me?” He asked softly.

“Of course!” They said happily, you’ve always helped me out and you mean a lot to me..” Lucifer stay quiet before quickly hugging them tight. “Thank you Y/N..” he said softly, the hug caught Y/N by surprise but they quickly hugged back a soft blush on their face. “Anything for you..”

Tag list

@reverse-soe @kazurami14 @netheris @musicb33nsstuff @rainycloud858 @yaimlight @erissco @aarkhamkknight @pooplyface1423 @purplethree @dog55teeth

#x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar #fanfic

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generalsmemories · 5 months

Text

Ginkgo leaves

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ based on the ask: Since reqs are open, you think you could write jing yuans reaction to his lover being Mara-struck? Thank you! - requested by anonymous

✧ contents: established relationship, angst, hurt/almost no comfort lmfao, implied character death, mentions of other characters, pov mostly written in jing yuan's pov, still usage of 2nd pov (referring the reader as you), mayhaps ooc because jing yuan is an emotional wreck.

✧ a/n: when i tell ya'll i legit struggled to be able to write this entire thing. there's been like 3-4 scrapped drafts because halfway through writing i would just NOT be satisfied with the result. to the anon who requested this, i'm so sorry it took this long - but i hope the upcoming trainwreck makes up for it! a trainwreck im still not actually satisfied with LMFAO. but it's better than the other 5 scrapped works. also not beta-read so fellas if u see a spelling error - no you didn't.

p.s: some mara-struck information i give here are totally fanmade for the purpose of this fic alone, as such don't take whatever i write about mara here as what actually happens canonically to characters (then again most of the playable characters have different symptoms of mara themselves).

"Benefactor, am I correct to believe you're asking me if the general has any specific interests?" Tingyun asks with a snicker, the trailblazer looking away from her prying eyes while mumbling a quiet yes.

"Some of the younger... Can I call them younger? Anyway, some of the younger Xianzhou citizens are very infatuated with the general. Seeing as I've been announced as his honory guest, they do often come and ask me various things to try and gain his favor. So yeah, anything at this point will work - so please!" the trailblazer hurriedly explained, clasping their hands together in a desperate attempt to get anything from the foxian amicassador leaning back with a quirked eyebrow.

"Ahh, love truly makes someone go blind doesn't it," she muses out loud, the trailblazers' eyebrow furrowing together in confusion over the foxian's lady choice of words, "... You're not entirerely wrong with that statement..."

"Do you want to know what his favorite flower is?" Tingyun asks, ignoring the confused question that had been uttered to her, snapping her fan open to hide the cheeky smile that spread across her lips - but anyone could still tell that her eyes were gleaming with mischief as the trailblazer nodded their head.

"He doesn't have one."

"Then why did you even-"

"But he likes ginkgo leaves."

The trailblazers' eyes widened in shock, and rightfully so because the very thing ginkgo leaves are associated with are after all...

"He had a lover once, and as far as I'm aware, his last moment with them while they still had their consciousness intact was surrounded by ginkgo leaves."

Jing Yuan whilst having forgotten almost every single moment with you, does unfortunately remember the exact details of the day that your descent into madness started. Because what he witnessed wasn't a futile struggle you had with yourself to not to destroy everything within your vicinity. Instead, he witnessed the slow process of your bright self becoming an empty shell, only capable of uttering a few words.

It's comical really, even when faced with a curse that struck everyone mad - he found out that it oddly fit your character to not go mad, but instead become the complete opposite of your gentle self. A hollow shell of the person he fell in love with all centuries ago.

Jing Yuan knew he had to end your suffering right then and there when you first started to show signs.

But he couldn't - This wasn't something that had to be immediately dealt with, his hand wasn't forced like it was back when he had to slay his own master down before she took more lives.

No, this was a normal afternoon on what would've been another normal, mundane day in both of your lives. But everything went wrong the moment Jing Yuan heard the breaking of glass, and how there was a lone gingko leaf inside the palm of your hand - a ginkgo leaf that you were staring wide-eyed at with a trembling hand.

You were too far from the veranda to have a ginkgo leaf in your hand.

General Jing Yuan would've ended your suffering the moment you turned around to lock eyes with him, your own face twisted into one of utter fear.

General Jing Yuan would've reported you the to Ten-Lords Commissions as the law had stated. But Jing Yuan couldn't - because Jing Yuan knew that the moment he did, he would never see you again.

So he decided for once he would be selfish. Jing Yuan rarely made choices lately that was based off of his own feelings, but his time with you was cut too harshly, so once again he chooses to be selfish. Even if that meant that it would prolong your suffering just a tiny bit more. "... We can figure something out," was the only thing he could muster up the courage to say with a shaking voice. You didn't say anything, your mouth wobbling a tiny bit and your breathing getting harsher by the second.

But still you indulged him - you always did. So with an equally wobbly smile, you only nodded your head slightly, "... Sure."

That wobbly smile and expression of utter fear was the last genuine expression that truly came from yourself.

The descent to becoming fully mara-struck is usually a fast process, the curse able to completely overtake someone's mind within the same day the symptoms appears - rendering the person completely vulnerable with the only alternative to either hand themselves in to the Ten-Lords or wait for the Ten-Lords to come to them personally.

Your usual easy-going smile was gone, in its stead was eyes that kept going in and out of focus. Almost as if you were desperately trying to keep yourself grounded - a battle you both knew would end with your defeat.

Jing Yuan didn't dare to venture outside of the house. One step out and every Cloud Knight would've been on you within seconds to subdue you. He had first initially resorted to just holding you within his arms for as long as he could, to be able to remember how you felt like after your death.

But with the minimal strength you had left, you had wobbled to the garden, every step taken only making you pant heavily. But even with heavy breaths of air leaving your lips, you had refused to take Jing Yuans hand or offer to even carry you out to the garden. When you had managed to reach the ginkgo tree standing tall at the center of the garden, Jing Yuan was sure you were going to collapse in front of it, taking a quick step to catch you.

But instead you had merely reached your hands up, the falling leaves fluttering gently down onto your palms. And while you were in indescriable pain for the last couple of hours - Jing Yuan could only see a serene expression when you looked up at the ginkgo leaves that were continously falling down.

"... They're beautiful... aren't they... Jing Yuan? It's almost a pity... that these beautiful... leaves are associated with our doom," you said softly. Jing Yuan could feel his breath hitch in his throat when you uttered his name.

You're obviously struggling to convey whatever thoughts you still had to him properly, taking a moment in between words to catch your breath, eyebrows furrowed slightly as you fought against the searing pain that was spreading through every nerve in your body.

There's a sudden gust of wind which causes the pile of leaves in your hands to flutter away from your grasp. Your hand stretches out slightly, almost in an attempt to reach out for them - stumbling a bit in your step. The limp causes Jing Yuan to take a quick step forward with his arms outstretched. Perhaps seeing him in your peripheral vision causes you to stop the futile attempt to catch the escaping leaves, arms going limp against your side as you turn to face him - your once blank expression turning into a somber smile instead.

Jing Yuan thinks that it's unfair how normal you look in front of him - almost as if you haven't been becme mara-struck. Like nothing has happened to you aside from the ginkgo leaves fluttering from your lips whenever you cough. The same cough that causes the general of Luofu to flinch every time - without fail.

And perhaps you can see his inner turmoil, the way he tries to make eye contact with you, but is unable to after a few seconds. The way his hands clench too hard into fist to the point droplets of blood fall down to the grass and stains it a deep red while he bites his own lips to not say a word - lest he says something that he will regret.

And you truly wish that you could tell him everything is okay like you usually do.

But for the first time since the day he lost his friends, you can't.

"... I'm sorry," you finally say, the apology making him whip his head up to you again. Mouth opening to say something to comfort you, to tell you that it's not your fault. But the words are unable to leave his mouth when he sees your arms slightly outstretched towards him with a small smile.

And he can't hold it in anymore.

It only takes him a few wide steps to reach you from his position before he cradles you within his arms. The grip is tight, unbearably tight to the point it hurts, but you don't complain. You're limp in his hold, and if this was any day he wouldn't comment, but the fact that you're not moving a single muscle terrifies Jing Yuan to the core. "... Please," he finally manages to whisper, the rustling of ginkgo leaves around you almost drowning out his quiet plea.

"Please don't make me do this again."

He doesn't ask if the tensing of your body is caused by the pain that's rapidly increasing or if it's caused by his silent confession. He can however feel the gentle hand that rests against the lower part of his back and your head resting against the side of his own. The reassurance you try to give him does nothing to help because he's aware that it probably brought you unmeasurable pain to try to move those limbs - instead the general buries his face closer to your neck and squeezes you tighter.

"... You won't." you whisper quietly.

It takes a moment for Jing Yuan to process the meaning behind those two words.

But it's a moment too late, because before he can get his phone out to usher a command, a few resounding knocks can be heard throughout the quiet mansion.

"General Jing Yuan. This is Xueyi of the Ten-Lords commission. I've gotten information that there's currently a mara-struck within these premises."

Jing Yuan feels his blood run cold, he pulls himself away from you to stare at you properly in disbelief.

You're still staring at him with the same somber expression, however he can tell there's a small pitiful smile grazing your lips, "I'm sorry," you whisper once again.

"I asked her... personally," you start, finally letting yourself rest now that the end is near, slumping down onto Jing Yuan's chest, your ear settling itself against his heart to hear his rapid heartbeats.

Jing Yuan loathes the fact that it's at this moment, with the Ten-Lords commission outside of your door and with him completely broken do you actually look at peace - like your battle against time has finally come to its conclusion.

And naturally, the one who lost is you.

"Half a day... with you. Then she would come and bring me there. You won't have to... do this again."

You're not able to see Jing Yuan's face - and Jing Yuan wouldn't want you to see how he looked like right now. The arms around you is trembling, his mind is racing - trying to come up with anything to give him a bit more time with you.

But for once, the general that had a plan for every situation had nothing in mind.

He's lost. And the prize of the loss this time is losing you forever.

"General, I apologize for the rudeness of what I'm about to do, but this is for both of your safety," Jing Yuan hear Xueyi mutter from outside of the door, before he hears the rattling of the door frame start to slide open.

"Wait- no," it's a quiet request that gets ignored as Xueyi strides in alone, the lack of company making Jing Yuan's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"... Their last request along with the request for my late arrival here was for the Cloud Knights to not see you like this. Naturally I won't tell anyone of what I've seen today."

Jing Yuan doesn't care about that, he could care less about his image right now, pulling you closer to him while his eyes are downcast - he makes no move to hand you over to the judge.

The puppet judge before him does not say anything - nor does she make a move. What she does however is wait, wait for the general before her that has been utterly crushed and broken by the person in his arms start to accept the harsh truth once again.

If he doesn't handle the mara-struck himself, someone else would - but the end result only serves to punish him in the end, the one left behind.

Xueyi hears a silent breath be let out by the general, her once closed eyes opening up to see the general pull slightly away from you, one hand reaching up to cradle your cheek. Your eyes have long since closed, and you're most likely not even conscious to hear what he's about to say.

"My dear... I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you. But I'm afraid you'll have to wait a bit longer before we can meet again," he whispers, bumping his forehead against your own gently, "I hope you won't fault me for that."

A long ginkgo leaf flutters right between the two of you, eventually settling down on your chest.

Jing Yuan sucks in one last deep breath, "I'm sorry I kept you here for so long - I'm sorry you had to be in pain for so long because of me," he leans in to slot his lips one last time over your own, whispering something that Xueyi can't hear before he rises up, your body limp in his arms.

"Thank you for your service Miss Xueyi, please see them off appropiately." Jing Yuan says, voice sounding eerily calm - almost like his usual self.

When he turns around to finally face her, the puppet's lifeless eyes seem to grow a bit in surprise. Before her is the general of Luofu, his usual easy-going smile present on his lips.

Like he wasn't carrying his mara-struck lover in his arms.

"As much as I would want to accompany you to see them off, I'm afraid I have some urgent matters to attend to," he informs, handing your body over to Xueyi - she doesn't comment on how his hands are still slightly trembling or how he immediately turned a bit to the side to ignore staring at her head-on.

Even though Xueyi doesn't want to ask, she still asks either way, "What are your plans from here on, general?"

Jing Yuan only gives her a close eyed smile, turning his gaze towards the large ginkgo tree with his hands behind his back. He gnaws a tiny bit at his lips, finally breathing out.

A couple of seconds passes by before he opens his mouth.

"I think I'll meditate a bit under this tree before heading back to the Seat. I can't leave Luofu without me for too long after all."

5 SCRAPPED WORKS AND I'M STILL NOT ACTUALLY THAT SATISFIED BUT IF I KEEP THIS PIECE LONGER IN THE WORKS THE MORE I'LL BUTCHER IT SO HAHA - THIS IS THE BEST WE CAN DO AFTER 3 MONTHS OF CONSTANT BACK AND FORTH FELLAS. I HOPE IT SQUEEZED YOUR HEART A TINY BIT NONETHELESS.

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail imagines #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr imagines #star rail x reader #star rail imagines #star rail x you #honkai star rail angst #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan angst

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querenciasturniolo · 9 months

Text

strange ⮕ c.s.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: lots of inner monologue, awkwardness, swearing, corniness, she/her pronouns

summary: request

a/n: this was requested again by the lovely @rainsoakedphoenix!!! this was super fun, and i had the idea to write it from chris’ point of view (still second person pov), so hopefully it works 🤞🏻

(this fic has jokes written in it about “chris having a crush on matt” bc of how prominent the jokes are in the fandom, but it doesn’t solely revolve around those jokes)

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

The comments had been going on for ages, and Chris genuinely didn’t know how everyone found out.

the way chris looks at y/n in todays vlog ?

i never would have guessed the girl chris has been talking about is y/n, but honestly the last few vlogs have really swayed me

okay no, but how has this never occurred to me ? i would have thought she’d end up with matt

Sure, he’d always had a hard time hiding his emotions on his face, but surely the fans didn’t really know he had feelings for you. He’d tried to ignore all of the comments about it, until the edits started rolling in. Every other edit on his for you page was the way he looked at you when you weren’t looking, or the way he’d look away when you turned to face him with pink cheeks.

It was his fault, for letting it slip on a live that he had feelings for someone, and of course the fans started sleuthing. It wasn’t like he’d declared his love for you on the top of a building with a megaphone, but the swiftness in which the questioning comments turned into matter-of-fact statements on any vlog you were in or any photo dump you were included in had Chris realizing he really should learn to control his face.

“Have you seen this one?” Matt asked. Chris looked up from his phone and watched Matt’s screen. It was an edit, a few of the clips from Wednesday’s vlog showing how disgustingly enamored he looked with you. Chris groaned and flopped back on Matt’s bed. “Did you read the caption?” Matt asked, his voice sounding as if he was holding back a laugh.

Chris shook his head and mumbled a reply into the pillow, not even understanding himself as Matt read it out loud. “Chris really went from having a crush on Matt to having a crush on the girl equivalent.” Chris pulled the pillow off of his face and glared, Matt’s laughter spilling out of him as he pulled his phone back towards him.

“Don’t laugh at a joke about me having a crush on you, it’s fucking weird.” Chris grumbled. “And she isn’t even that much like you.”

Matt huffed and shrugged his shoulders. “Tell that to the countless comparison edits of the two of us on my for you page.” He retorted, Chris rolling his eyes and sitting up to throw the pillow in his direction. He stood, Matt glancing up from his phone with a frown. “Where are you going?”

He turned. “The living room, your presence is getting on my nerves.” He said, Matt scoffing and turning his attention back to his phone.

Of course he’d seen the comparison edits, how could he not? You were soft spoken, only occasionally getting loud enough when whatever you were talking about was important to you. You were incredibly observant, and never the first person to point something out. All of the fans had said you and Matt were one in the same, which made sense as to how comfortable Chris was around you almost immediately. But it was still odd that the fans said that, because to Chris, you were just…you, and he couldn’t help but catch feelings for you.

In all reality, it hit him like a truck, and it scared the shit out of him. One day, the four of you were hanging out, and then out of nowhere, he had a headache with how fast the realization hit him. Things were different after that, at least for him. It felt as though everything that came out of his mouth directed at you was awkward, and that you could see right through the facade he held up to keep his feelings from you unknown.

You’d continued to be yourself throughout everything, though it worried him that any time the jokes about Chris’ crush on you were brought up, you’d immediately blush and change the topic. He didn’t want to immediately think that you had feelings for him as well, but he also didn’t want to think you didn’t. He didn’t know what he wanted, truthfully. He wanted everything out in the open, but at the same time he didn’t.

Chris groaned and flopped forward on the couch, his groan being muffled by the couch cushions. He stayed like that for a while, ignoring the buzzing on his phone until he heard Nick walking down the stairs.

“Dude, Y/n’s been at the door for like five minutes, why the fuck didn’t you let her in?” He asked, not giving Chris a chance to answer before he descended the second staircase and opened the door. “Sorry about him, he’s in a mood or something.”

Chris heard your quiet reply and the sound of you and Nick climbing the stairs again. He still hadn’t moved from his position on the couch, even when he felt the cushion dip next to him.

“Everything alright?”

His heart rate spiked at the sound of your voice and he shrugged, though it didn’t work well. You laughed softly, and it felt like every nerve was on high alert. He finally pushed himself up and sat next to you, running a hand through his hair before meeting your eyes. You always had a look on your face, like you knew something was bothering him even though he hadn’t said anything.

“How do you do that?” He asked. You frowned.

“Do what?” You asked.

Chris sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “You always know when something is bugging me.” He said. You chuckled and shook your head, your eyebrows raising.

“Chris, I walked in and you were laying face down on the couch. It’s pretty obvious that something is bothering you.” You said, your voice light and teasing.

He blinked and sighed, putting his head in his hands. “Jesus, that was dumb, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s funny. One thing I can tell is that you want to talk to me about it, unless that’s just me being hopeful.” You said, Chris looking over at you. It was true, you were the only person he wanted to talk to about this. He nodded, and he couldn’t help but relax when you adjusted to face him completely, and just watched him patiently.

It took him longer than he was expecting. He usually could say anything without a problem, whether he messed up his words or not, but this was you. He’d never had a problem talking to you about how he was feeling before, but it was near impossible when it directly applied to you.

You hadn’t pushed him, which he was grateful for. You sat right in front of him and waited patiently, nodding your head in encouragement each time he was about to speak, but not reacting when he didn’t. He groaned and threw his head back.

“Jesus, why is this so hard?” Chris mumbled. You shook your head and rested your hand over his, lightly squeezing it.

“Chris, it’s okay. Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.” You said, Chris sighing and nodding his head.

He was silent for a few minutes, but eventually met your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Do you wanna, like, go out? On a date?” He asked. You blinked, your face heating up and your heart racing as you processed what he said.

“Like, for real? This isn’t just because of all of the comments?” You asked, Chris smiling shyly and shaking his head.

“Well, the fans were right. I mean, about me liking you.” He said, wringing his hands together in his lap to take attention away from them shaking.

You couldn’t help but smile at him for a moment, looking away when his eyes met yours.

“I didn’t know it was true.” You said, your voice almost a whisper.

Chris glanced over at you, his chest pounding when he realized you hadn’t answered him, and that you couldn’t look at him.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t feel the same. It’s fine, really.” He said, pushing himself off of the couch. He paused when your hand gripped his wrist, looking down to see you grinning up at him. You shook your head and stood, trying your best to keep your eyes on his. It was insane, how someone’s eyes could be so intimidating but so kind and full of love all at once.

“I’d love to, really.” You said, blush traveling from his neck to his face. He cleared his throat and nodded, trying his best to fight off the dorky smile on his face.

“Okay.” He said, his voice quiet.

You chuckled. “Okay.” You repeated awkwardly, Chris’ smile coming in full force. You stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, his eyes widening slightly when you dropped down to your heels. You smiled at him, entwining your fingers with his.

Your hand fit so well in his, like a puzzle piece. He watched as you looked down at your hands. He ran his thumb over the side of your hand, smiling at the way you looked up at him shyly. He frowned when your eyes lit up and you smiled at him, confusion clouding his face as you lightly bumped his shoulder with yours.

“So that’s why you’ve been acting so strange.”

#chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets

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words-etched-in-her-skin · 2 months

Note

The continuation for that Alcina fic was fucking deliciousssssss skdjfskldfj

It got me thinking, I'm not sure if you've written a fic like this before or if you would even write one like this, but I was wondering what that situation (or one similar to it) would look like from Alcina's POV?

Hello, dears ♥️ In preparation for reaching ✨1,750 followers✨, I've been working on a little fic that was inspired by both this ask 🔺🔺🔺 (thank you 👀 I'm so glad you liked it jdhddjkd) , as well as this incredible piece of fanart!

But first and foremost:

Thank you all for following! 💋

And as for the request, here you go! Written from Alcina's POV and just under 3k words 👀 I hope some of you will enjoy it! 😁♥️

The Lady found herself in a foul mood as she made her way back into the castle. Met with nothing but absolute silence as she opened the large doors and walked into the even larger foyer. Of course, she expected no one else to be awake at this hour, save for her daughters who were still out on the hunt. Though, as she made her way slowly up the staircase, a faint sound could be heard traveling its way softly through the corridors. A quiet, subtle melody hummed just barely loud enough to be heard. But, of course, she heard it. She heard everything that happened within those castle walls - even when she cared not to.

“The audacity.. sneaking out at this hour.” She grumbled to herself, following the haunting sound. Her foul mood turning even more sour when she realized that her hopes of getting directly into a hot, soothing bath had been swiftly thwarted. Instead making it so she'd likely have to discipline someone instead. She sighed as the voice grew louder, leading her directly into the library.

A Countess' work is never done, Alcina, she thought to herself tiredly. Of course it wasn't. Why should she be able to enjoy the solitude of a hot bath and a glass of her favorite wine after running through the woods chasing after man-things all night? She huffed at the air, frustrated - irritation riddling her weary bones as she opened the doors to the large room - the soft humming immediately halting as she did.

“There's no use in hiding, dear. I may be tired, but I can still smell you from here.”

A murmured curse in response from a voice she knew all too well. She sighed again.

“Draga.. of all the nights to be breaking curfew..”

The Countess was in no mood and she could feel her patience wearing thinner by the minute. Of all people.

“Come out, pet, now.” She ordered through gritted teeth.

Slowly, the figure of her current paramour came hesitantly out from behind the bookstacks and into view. Skin pale and a look of sheer panic on their face.

“Alcina-”

“I don't believe now is the time for such informalities.” She responded sternly, cutting them short.

They swallowed nervously. “Right, of course. S-sorry, my lady. I.. I thought you were out for the night?”

Alcina scoffed. “As if that gives you the right to be disobeying my direct orders? Hm? Traipsing around the castle at all hours of the night.”

“N-no… it's just.. I-”

“Save it, pet. I am in no mood for excuses and you're the last person I wanted to have to discipline tonight.”

She rubbed the bridge of her nose and moved further into the room. A profound wave of exhaustion washing over her that forced a slight stumble to her stride.

When was the last time she had even fed? She wondered.

“My lady? Are.. are you alright?”

“It's nothing.” She snarled.

“Countess.. I am.. very sorry for disappointing you. And I know you're angry with me.” The human’s voice softened a little as they moved closer to her, fidgeting anxiously with their fingers. “But, if there is anything I can do? You know, to help.”

“There is.” She growled, “You can start by not being so incompetent!”

This time the words that came out were raw, primal - dipped in venom - the dragon within her inching closer and closer to the surface as her need to feed grew stronger. Albeit, the moment she saw her handservant flinch - coiling back at her words - she couldn't help but soften. Sighing, she turned to face them.

“I am sorry, draga. I seemed to have lost myself. While, yes, I am disappointed that you disobeyed the rules of this castle - you did not.. deserve that.” Alcina sat down in the chair closest to the fireplace and took a deep breath, her body overcome with exhaustion. “I fear it has been too long since I last fed. Which makes being around me at the moment rather.. dangerous. It would be for the best that you return to your quarters for now, pet. I'll deal with your punishment in the morning.”

“Oh. Of course, my lady.”

They bowed and then turned to leave before pausing.

“Uh.. Alcina?” They asked tentatively.

The Countess looked up, eyes heavy. “Hm?”

“Ah, if I may - you could.. use me.. if you wanted?”

Alcina raised an eyebrow. “Use you? How?”

“Ah.. heh.. that is, to feed? From me?”

The Countess stared blankly, shocked for a moment before shaking her head. “That's not necessary, draga. I have everything I need in my room.”

“I'm aware.. but.. you know. You're obviously quite exhausted and I'm.. well, I'm right here.”

They gave her a crooked little smile that she couldn't help but chuckle at.

“If you're trying to get out of your punishment, pet-”

“N-no! I'll fully accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate. I just.. want to help, is all.”

“Mmh..” The lady hummed in thought, mulling their very tempting offer. She was exhausted, this was true. And it'd been longer than she could recall since she’d had the taste of fresh blood in her mouth. Warm and pulsing and straight from the tap.

Still..

With the dragon in her so close to the surface, the worries of her losing control were imminent. And the thought of losing yet another partner - one as sweet and caring as they were, again - was almost too much of a thought to handle. Alcina physically shuddered at the thought, the warmth from the fire doing very little to calm her worries. Worries that her handservant must have quickly picked up on. Small fingers sliding into her own and a kind face looking up at her as they kneeled on the castle floor in front of her.

“Hey, I trust you.”

Alcina snorted. “Famous last words, pet.”

They chuckled softly. “How about this then.. is there maybe another part of my body that would be safer to drink from? Than say, my neck?”

The Lady smirked. “Mh, perhaps... your inner thigh would probably work.”

Alcina watched as a soft pink hue began to crawl across the human's cheeks. It was strikingly gorgeous basked in the firelight.

“O-oh.. well, ah.. that seems.. doable.”

A flash of crimson as her smirk widened. Her lover’s heartbeat quickening by the minute, thumping loudly over the soft crackle of the fire.

“Mhm.. are you certain? It may… hurt, quite a bit.”

Oh, how that blush grew even deeper at the Countess’ words. How exquisite it was. Alcina could feel the smugness seeping into the corners of her lips as she watched them fluster.

“I.. oh.. that's okay. I don't mind, my lady. R-really.” They replied, rubbing the back of their neck.

Not that they would've been the first of Alcina's suitors to be into pain. Far from it, in fact - it seemed to be a commonality in many of the lovers she had taken over the years. Whether it was just something that came with the territory - or more the fact that whenever they looked at her they found themselves thinking “big lady, break me” - either way, it was a noticeably recurring occurrence in the Countess’ love life.

“Very well.” Alcina replied, rising from the chair to her full height. “Pull up your skirt, pet, and take a seat.”

As dutiful as ever, her servant quickly obeyed and took their Lady's place on the large chair. A coy smile on their face as they pulled the simple fabric of their uniform past their upper thighs, exposing their supple flesh along with their dampened undergarments.

“Like this?” They asked with a smirk.

“Bold time for you to be acting bratty, pet. Don't you think?”

“Ah.. m-maybe?” They answered sheepishly.

“Mhm.”

And even though the Countess’ tone remained firm, she could only shake her head and chuckle as she lowered herself down to the fresh, warm meal that waited for her. A deep flush decorating the human’s cheeks as the Lady knelt in front of them, hands spreading their legs a little further apart for her.

“O-oh.. uh.”

The Countess looked at them curiously before leaning back. “If you're having second thoughts, pet-”

“N-no! I just.. ah.. this view is just.. really nice.”

An even smugger smirk grew across the Lady's lips. “Mhm.. is it now?”

“I mean.. yes?”

“Enjoy it while it lasts then, draga.. very rarely does one ever get me on my knees.”

The flushed servant almost choked in response as they quickly nodded, face as red as their employer’s lips.

“I.. mhm.. enjoying it. Yes.”

“Mh.. probably wet at just the sight, aren't you?” Alcina asked teasingly, forcing them to whine.

“A-alcinaa.. that's unfair.”

“And that's not an answer.”

The Countess' words grew a little darker, punctuating them with a firm scratch across the human's inner thigh, immediately pulling droplets of warm crimson to the surface.

They cursed. “Fine.. yes.. I am.”

“Mh.. good.”

A single sweep of her tongue over the fresh gash forced another whine from her lover, a fierce shiver rolling over their body. Alcina knew she was going to enjoy all of this maybe a little too much - but the needy sounds she could will from their lips was something she would never grow tired of. And as she leaned in a little further, with their metallic essence still warm in her mouth, she could smell just how aroused they already were.

Very good.

"Deep breaths now, pet. This is going to sting.”

They nodded softly in response, cheeks a brilliant hue and eyes widening the moment the Countess’ incisors began to lengthen, readying themselves to feed. Another swirl of her tongue over the spot she'd already marked. A rush of blood right below the surface, drawing the vampire directly to the proper vein. And as she gave her meal a final smirk, she took their thigh between two large hands and brought it to her mouth.

“Mmmph-!”

Whimpered breaths from her prey’s lips as sharp fangs seeped eagerly into their flesh.

“Mmmh.”

A subtle moan from within her own as she slowly drew their essence into her mouth, savoring the exquisite flavor of them. They tasted even better than she’d imagined - sweeter, more refined - with metallic undertones fueled by a life force that only made her all the more hungry.

“You taste divine, draga.” Alcina murmured, her words reverberating deep into their skin before her fangs were sunk back in again.

“Ah-!”

The subtle flinch to the muscle that laid just beneath her teeth, the soft moan that fell from their whispered lips - the Countess knew if she didn't keep her control that she could very easily become ravenous for their taste. The pulse of it flowing warmly over her tongue as she swallowed it down, indulging herself in the life that danced throughout it.

They would surely make an excellent wine.

And even though the thought was morbid to most - to Alcina, it was merely a compliment. One of the highest in fact. Though, she found all the best tasting humans tended to be the ones she had no desire of actually killing. Ones that inherently touched her heart and moved her soul. But hell if she didn't appreciate any chance she got at a taste.

Her lover's growing moans were the only thing to bring her back from her thoughts - from giving into the primal force that always sat just under the skin - ready to take over. But gods, could she smell how wet they were for her. How their body squirmed every time she drew a long pull of blood from them. Their flesh heated against her lips, their strong musk enveloping the tiny space between them. And out of the corner of her eye, Alcina could even see that the chair beneath the human was readily growing damper.

”Good”. She thought smugly, a smirk beneath her blood coated lips when she finally pulled away to look up at them.

"Am I to believe you're actually enjoying this, draga? Are you really so needy?”

They whined at her ridicule, squirming even more - her teasing tone and slightly taunting words having the exact effect on them that she wanted.

“You will answer me if you expect something done about it.” She demanded.

Another whine.

“F-fuck.. yes, okay? It's.. it feels good.”

“Mh. Better.”

The Lady placed a gentle kiss to their inner thigh and then brought two fingers to the hem of their underwear, swiftly ripping the fabric from their body. Her patented smirk growing even wider the moment the measure of their arousal was reflected in the firelight - they were absolutely dripping for her.

“Well, well.. all this for me?”

“All for you. A-always.”

“Charming, are we?”

Alcina went to move a little closer but felt them tense, immediately making her stop. A single eyebrow raised at them inquisitively.

“Draga?”

“It's just.. you're exhausted, Alcina.. you don't have to-”

“Hush. When have you ever known me to do something I haven't wanted?”

They chuckled, blushing sheepishly. “You have a point.”

“Plus,” she smirked, “I'm not quite finished with my meal yet.”

An even deeper blush. “O-oh. Alright, then.”

The Countess hummed in content when her lover finally relaxed, their head falling softly back. Their sweet scent immediately pulling her back in, lips quickly finding their pulse point while her fingers teased their entrance. With soft folds so wet that she found barely any resistance as she slid two fingers into them, generously stretching their core.

“Mmph-!”

A single curl as the Countess closed her eyes, allowing her fangs to sink deep into the human’s flesh once again.

“F-fuck-”

She couldn't help but to draw her gaze upward, to enjoy the view for just a moment. Her stunning love - flushed, legs spread - eyes closed softly in a mix of want and preparation. It truly were a shame, she thought, how mortal humans could be. To lose such a gorgeous sight was an offense to Alcina’s very being. That the world could ever lose such beauty? It was a thought that made her all the more eager - almost ravenous - to possessively stake her claim upon them.

To which she did..

With the Lady's fangs seeped deep within their flesh and her fingers buried in their core. Thrusting, curling. Matching the controlled pulls from their thigh as she feasted upon them. With each movement willing the most arousing sounds from her lover. Some breathy, some loud - moaning each and every time Alcina drove her fingers in a little harder. But it wasn't enough, not for her. The Countess wanted more. She wanted her name screamed out into the night in ecstasy. She wanted her claim imprinted into the stars themselves.

And she paid no mind to how many orgasms ripped across her lover's body. She cared not for how soaked both her fingers and the fabric below her became. Having now fed to her content, her mouth began moving onto marking the rest of their thighs. Nibbling and sucking over every inch of eager flesh that she could reach. Their essence dripping from the corners of her mouth and painting their skin in a dark crimson. Their body trembling, vibrating with desire until another orgasm ripped through them violently, finally forcing the Countess’ name from their tongue like a pious prayer. Their voice quickly falling to nothing more than a whisper - raw from unhindered pleasure.

“F-fuck, Alcina..”

“Mh, language.”

“Pretty sure.. it's warranted.”

Alcina chuckled before licking the excess blood from her lover's wounds, their thighs sufficiently covered in her claim.

“These should heal in a few days. I'll bring you some balm for them tomorrow.”

“Hm.. I like them, though.” The human pouted.

The Countess snorted. “Of course you do. My sweet little masochist.”

Feeling fully refreshed from her meal, Alcina had no intention of sleeping anytime soon, but she knew her handservant would certainly need rest after all of that. The loss of blood mixed with the intense dopamine boost would be enough to wipe anyone out. Without muttering a word, Alcina rose to her full height and picked up her lover's discarded underwear before lifting them up into her arms and into a full bridal carry.

“My lady-!”

“Hush, draga. You've lost a fair amount of blood, as well as other bodily fluids. You need to rest.” Even with the short walk from the library to the servants quarters, the body in her arms quickly grew heavy with sleep - the human’s breath nearly in a slumbered rhythm by the time they’d arrived.

“I’ll be back with some tea and something sweet for you, pet.” She said as she laid them gently onto their bed. “Please, try to drink and eat at least a little something before falling asleep.”

Her lover nodded tiredly, eyes heavy and cheeks flush with sleep.

“Mhm.. yes.. mistress…”

Alcina smiled and placed a tiny kiss to their cheek before walking towards the door. She was more than certain they'd be fast asleep by the time she returned, but she’d still do her best to make sure they woke up knowing just how much she treasured them.

Warm tea, their favorite pastry, some balm for their wounds and a note reading "Thank you for the exquisite meal, draga. Next time is on me. - xx, Alcina." would be there to greet them as soon as they woke up.

A/N: If I ever make it to 2k, I might just finally do some bottom!Alcina for you all 👀♥️

#depravity answered #anonymous #resident evil village #alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu pov #re8 fanfiction #lady dimitrescu fanfic #this is my 2nd attempt ever at writing from Alcina's POV 👀#i hope i did her justice ♥️#thank you all so much for following!#1750 followers ✨#re8 asks

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amywritesthings · 7 days

Note

Love your fic love, it's the best one I've ever read. Could you do something from Levi pov when he started realising he liked Reader and he felt about that?

first of all, thank you for such lovely words! i'm so happy you like it. second of all, i can certainly write you a levi pov where he had his 'oh shit do i like her?' moment xo

all at once. / levi ackerman x f!reader

word count: 900 warnings: language, levi pov set in the silver underground universe

( read on ao3 here )

Furlan had a funny saying about the people he fell head over heels for.

It happens slowly, he once told Levi.

The two of them were sitting around their newly-bought two-bedroom apartment, comically vacant and egregiously filthy.

With his long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle, Furlan chose to sink his palms into the dust to tattoo his fingerprints.

To say he was there.

(I was here. I am here.)

Levi chose a more civilized position — sitting backwards on one of the only two chairs they had in this place, his sleeved forearms folded over each other on its curved back. He peered down at his friend with the utmost curiosity, head hung under a curtain of black fringe.

“The hell’s this question coming from?” Levi grunted as he shifted his shoe on the floor.

Fucking disgusting; he wasn’t going to sleep tonight if the entire apartment ended up being this damn dirty.

“What do you mean?” Furlan asked. "Which topic?"

“The topic of this,” Levi clarified, “and why you’re so interested in who I may be looking at on the streets."

"What, we can't gossip?"

The way Levi's brow quirked said otherwise. Furlan sighed.

"We're roommates now."

"So?"

"I don’t think I asked who you're interested in, Church.”

“No, you didn’t,” Furlan hummed happily with a dopey smile on his face. “But now that we have this place with two whole bedrooms to ourselves, we have the luxury of inviting people over. Think about it: two young and handsome bachelors, ready to take on the—”

“Wait, invite people over?” Levi interrupted, brow rising. “This isn’t a community house. It's headquarters.”

“No, I know."

"Do you?"

"Yeah! But like I said, think about it: now that we’re taking names and carving our own legacies down here, I’m sure plenty of people will think we’re great. Maybe we'll even get some kinda group of admirers for our efforts.”

“Doubtful.”

“Aw, c’mon, Levi,” Furlan pouted. “Don’t you like anyone? There’s that one guy with the tattoos over on second street.”

“No.”

“Or the dark-haired girl who always seems to give you a discount on soups.”

“Not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

Furlan blinked.

The black-haired boy felt his temper — and embarrassment — rising.

“Because I wouldn’t know what the fuck it feels like to like someone like… that.”

Levi grit the truth between his teeth, hating the honesty that came with this ridiculous conversation.

The Underground City doesn't quite offer anything real. Down here love was transactional. There wasn't room for emotional error.

He saw what it did to his mother.

He saw how it molded whatever the fuck he’d call Kenny.

Bottom line was that feelings weren’t good.

And then there was Furlan, looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Well, when you realize there's something about someone, it's slow,” the ash-blonde boy suggested, nodding with encouragement. “From my understanding, liking a guy, girl, person, whatever — it happens slowly, then all at once.”

“How’s it slow?”

Furlan smiled, knocking his feet side to side against the wooden floorboards.

“Probably because the people you actually like are kinda in the background until they aren’t anymore.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Levi echoed. "You're supposed to be attracted to them first."

"That definitely helps, but that's like... lust or whatever," Furlan challenged. "I'm talking about liking someone. Wanting to hold hands or be with them so you can listen to them talk all the time and never get bored of what they're saying."

Levi scoffed, turning his chin sharply to the right as he considered.

Slow, then all at once.

Except it was never slow.

It would’ve been really fucking helpful if it had been.

You’d been ready to rip his throat open all those years ago.

No one had ever gotten the jump on him the way you had. No one would ever come close.

Maybe watching your fights after Kenny dropped him for reasons unsaid had been the slowest part about this. Watching your sweat-streaked face as you caught your breath in the midst of folding someone double your size like it was nothing. Listening to your voice in the alleyway when you spoke to that witch of a woman. Conjuring up an excuse to talk to you, to see if you even remembered—

It’d been all at once from the very beginning.

Someone as fleeting as a ghost had haunted his once dreamless sleep.

Hell, you still did.

“Sounds like you got someone in mind.”

His gray eyes darted back to Furlan, instantly on the defensive.

The other boy sported a goofy smirk. Levi scowled.

He could tell him.

He could ask if the way his throat closed up whenever he so much as considered uttering her name was a sign that he was head over heels.

That sometimes it wasn’t slow, but as fast as a blow to the damn head.

That sometimes liking a stranger felt more powerful than anything he'd ever known.

“Nah,” Levi lied, surging from his seat to stand at full height. “Only thing I’m interested in is cleaning this piece of shit up. I’m not sleeping on cobwebs tonight, so get up, grab a broom, and help.”

James.

Maybe one day he’d face it; liking someone.

Really, genuinely, devastatingly wanting someone.

But he couldn’t afford it.

(Maybe one day.)

#attack on titan fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x female reader #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman fanfiction #snk fanfic #snk fic #aot fanfic #aot fic #levi ackerman fanfic #silver underground #aot drabbles

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baby-yongbok · 9 months

Text

Sunset

Bang Chan x Thick Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, non idol

✨Masterlist ✨

Warnings: Unprotected sex (Wrap it up, guys), Cheating (Married reader/ Chan is dating someone) , Strangers to One night lovers, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Oral sex (M receiving) Slightly rough, Uh.. that’s it really? It’s just Smut, Sorry if I missed any tags. Explicit content so MDNI please.

Word Count: 2677

Note: First Person POV + This was something that I just whipped up real quick and wanted to share. It’s short compared to what I usually like to write but I thought you’d enjoy it! Just a quick smutty Chan fic to entertain ya.

Summary: The Sunset diner is your go to place to retreat, it allows you to meet new people while immersing yourself in the arts. It’s become your routine to relax at the diner every night and seek some...company. One night a new customer arrives and you just cant seem to keep your eyes off of him. You have to have him.

"Thank you, Lali." I nod my head to the waitress that serves me almost every night and she smiles back as always.

The Sunset studio and diner has always been a safe haven for me, ever since I was thirteen years old my step dad would bring me here and buy me a hot chocolate and two cookies before letting me roam around the studio and stare at the artwork in awe. It bought him enough time to smash whatever girl he picked up along the way in the bathroom then come back and act like he was never gone. I never cared, I was too fascinated with the artwork and the soft melodies of the guitars that the customers brought from home, or the grand piano by the entrance being played by whoever thought they were good enough to have the entire studio hear them. I was always amazed by those people, by their confidence, it was different from the kind that I possessed and I enjoyed being in its presence. No one has dared to play the piano in months though, not in my visits to the diner.

I continue my watercolor painting enjoying the ambient sounds of guitars and what I’m pretty sure is a ukulele when suddenly I hear it. My head snaps up and my eyes land on the brown haired man focusing on the keys of the grand piano. Others in the diner still their movements as they stare, those who are sitting around me stop talking and listen to the melody that he's producing. He continues to play a song that I've never heard before, an original maybe? The beauty in the notes that he's playing makes me close my eyes as the music builds me up to a feeling of bliss that I haven’t felt in what feels like forever.

As the piece picks up speed I start to wonder about its purpose. Is it an ode to tragedy or love? They are both one in the same in the end but I'd love to pick his brain. Suddenly the melody comes to a halt before he lightly strokes the last three keys. The sound of the last key drags out beautifully and applause erupts quickly after. The young man's head jolts upward and a small dimpled grin plays upon his lips before he stands and playfully bows before the studio. As the studio calms down I watch him carefully as he picks up his bag and makes his way to the counter to order a drink. I can’t help myself as I find myself ear hustling.

"That was beautiful." One of the employees that I don't know that well raves.

"Thank you, I appreciate it." His response is dry, he's uninterested.

"Chan?" Lali calls from the pick up counter and I glance back to watch him pick up his drink. He smiles warmly at Lali but he's still uninterested, what is he interested in? He scans the studio searching for a spot to sit and I quickly continue painting. He makes his way past my booth and I decide to go in for the kill.

"Excuse me." He turns around to me and his eyes soften once they land on mine, why's he so tense?

"May I ask what you got to drink? It looks divine." The same small grin as before plays upon his lips as he turns completely to me.

"An iced black tea with mint and cream."

"Oh, wow that sounds as divine as it looks, thank you." His eyes stay on mine as I offer him a smile and for the first time since he's stood from the piano he seems interested.

"It's my pleasure, I can't help but notice your painting. It's beautiful, truly stunning." Tapping the end of my paint brush against the table I shrug at him.

"It's alright, I'm experimenting with watercolor tonight. Would you like to have a seat?" I wave my hand towards the seat across from me and he kindly accepts. Sliding into the booth I get a swift whiff of his scent, a musk of some sort, Egyptian? Himalayan maybe.

"I'm not much of an artist, the world of paint intimidates me." He chuckles and I bring my hand up to rest my chin in the palm.

"Funny, you don't seem like the type to be intimidated by much." His eyebrow raises at my response as he lets it linger, he clearly doesn't plan to ask what I mean. He's waiting for me to elaborate, but I'm not the type to volunteer information and he doesn't seem like the type to ask about it.

"Do you come here often?" He asks disregarding my previous comment, I can't help but chuckle.

"Every other week since I was thirteen, I upgraded to every day at 9pm a year ago." He shakes his head and sips his drink.

"I'm passing through this town, thought I'd look for a place to relax and stop driving for a while."

"You made a wonderful choice stopping here, especially since you seem to be a fellow creative. That was a beautiful piece you played earlier." He nods and offers a quiet thank you. "Have you always played? Or have you just recently learned how to move your fingers like that?"

There his eyebrow goes again, raised and displaying his curiosity. "I've always played."

"Oh, how wonderful you must have such a careful way of doing things then. I've always found that those who play the piano are drawn towards the more intricate things in life."

We stare at each other for a few seconds, both grinning and scanning each other. He breaks our gaze, sitting up straighter he pushes his drink over to me.

"Have a taste." His eyes meet mine again and this time I challenge his gaze, holding it as I wrap my lips around the straw and suck up the tasty liquid. "Don't be greedy, now."

A small moan escapes me at the sound of his warning. Releasing the straw from my lips I grin at him. "Delicious, the mint is a really nice touch."

"Would you like for me to get you one?"

"No thank you, I like yours." The chuckle that falls from his lips stirs something up in me that I haven't felt in a while. He's flipping a switch that no one has been able to in a while and I am loving it.

"What do you do for a living?" Eyebrows furrowed and both elbows on the table he awaits my answer.

"I'm an art professor." There goes that eyebrow raise.

"Professor? Excuse me for my rudeness but my curiosity is getting the best of me. May I ask your age?"

"You may." He's visibly amused by my answer. He's clearly a bit younger than me. He's easy to get to but not too easy.

"Twenty-five and yourself?"

"Twenty-three" I knew it, experienced but not too much. "Too young for you?"

"Not at all, you'll be fun to seduce." There go those damn eyebrows, I wonder if he knows he's doing that at this point. I'm not mad at it, it's just interesting.

"Seduce, huh?"

"Mhm, I'm already turning you on." He leans forward in his seat and folds his arms.

"How so?"

" You like that I'm not easy to read, you're also into the fact that we both dabble in the arts of some sort. You're impressed by my age and my beauty, and you've been keeping consistent eye contact with me. Not to mention your manspreading which when across from an attractive female is an invitation to make an advance." He leans back against the booth, arms still crossed.

"Are you sure you don't teach psychology?" Smiling in his direction I nod before checking the time.

"Drive me home?" Checking his watch he keeps his eyes on me as I pack my art supplies.

"Is 11:15pm your cut off time here?" Grabbing his bag and finishing his drink he slides over to the end of the seat.

"Not usually, but I have to get to the next step in seducing you." Laughing, he stands and grabs my bag for me.

"I should've probably told you this before but I'm actually driving down to see my girlfriend." Shrugging my shoulders I pass him.

"And I'm married, your point?" Making my way through the doors of the studio I close my eyes briefly as the night air brushes my skin, the beginning of fall is always so relaxing.

"This way." Brushing his hand along the small of my back he starts walking towards his black Mercedes Benz G-Class. I guess he's not bothered by my relationship status, I'm glad we're on the same page. "After you." Opening the door for me and placing my bag at my feet he closes it after me and I quickly do a breath and pit check before he gets to the driver's side. Once he's inside he asks where I live and I say nothing, looking over at me I meet his gaze and smile at him.

"I never got your name.” he relaxes into his seat

"Chan, and yours" I don't plan on answering him, it's actually best if I don't. His breath hitches in his throat as I begin to palm him through his jeans.

"I like to think about how you'll recall this memory over the next couple of months." Getting on my knees in the passenger seat I leaned over to unbuckle his belt. "How you'll recall the blissful feeling of my mouth on you, the nameless woman you met at the studio."

Unzipping his pants teasingly slow, neither of us break our continuous gaze. "How I'm so much better than the girl you're going to visit, sexier, more spontaneous. Has she ever sucked you off in your car?" He shakes his head revealing the obvious answer.

"I didn't think so." My mouth sinks down his shaft and he draws in a deep breath. His hand tangles into my hair and the other grips the steering wheel. He clearly hasn't received oral in awhile, I'd be surprised if he lasts longer than three minutes.

"Oh my fucking god" He rests his head against the headrest and his grip on my hair gets tighter as I work his shaft, my tongue playing with the underside of his dick where his head and shaft meet, my favorite part of any man's cock. "You're pretty fucking good at that, baby."

Humming in response I take his length deeper down my throat swallowing around him. I think that today I'll try not to use my hands, I'd like to make him finish strictly with my mouth. "Shit, babe let me kiss you."

Humming in response I continue to work my head up and down his dick. "I said let me fucking kiss you." Pulling my head up off of him he holds my chin in place as his lips aggressively meet mine. Moaning into him I part my lips allowing his tongue to explore the depths of my mouth as he pleases. His hand explores my body, fondling my breast and Tracing the dips of my curvy figure.

"You're a fucking slut aren't you?" Moaning at the sound of his husky voice I nod. "Finish a sluts job then." Pushing my head back down to his cock I open my mouth taking his member back down my throat. Groans and moans fall from our mouths as I sucked him, the anticipation of his sticky cum coating my throat excites me.

"Just like that, give me all of that pretty mouth." His cock twitches in my mouth and I start to slow down eliciting a frustrated groan from Chan as well as a slap on the ass. "Don't you tease me, slut."

Smiling slightly I pick up the pace finding my rhythm, it's not long before he explodes in my mouth gifting me with the taste of him. Swallowing every last drop I sit up and start preparing to make my escape when he grabs my wrist and ushers me over into his lap. Leaning back into the steering wheel I accidentally honk the car horn with my backside and we both chuckle after the surprise and panic subside. Adjusting his seat so that it's further away from the steering wheel and slightly leaned back I adjust myself so that I'm comfortable before crashing my lips to his. Grinding into him my skirt rides up revealing my bare ass and his hand wastes no time gripping a handful and landing a firm smack on either cheek eliciting a deep moan from me. Before I realize it his length slips inside of me filling me up and reaching every spot that I need him to.

"Fuck, oh my god." Moans uncontrollably spill as he thrusts up into me.

"What about you, huh? Are you going to think about the guy you met at the studio? How he seduced you just as effectively as you did him." Picking up his speed he finds a rhythm that is bound to make me cum early. " How he made you cum so quickly that you can't fathom what a night with him would be like." Just as those words leave his mouth my orgasm washes over me in a wave stronger than any man has ever caused before.

"Or how about the way he kept you coming over and over again." One of his hands snaked down to my pussy and started aggressively rubbing my currently sensitive clit. The other hand lifted my shirt to reveal my bare chest, lifting his knee a bit and pushing me forward. He sucks one of my nipples into his mouth as he readjusts his other hand to replace his length with two fingers, as his thumb finds and rubs my clit. Bouncing with the rhythm of his fingers I end up riding his digits as my second orgasm crashes into me.

"Chan" All I manage to moan out is his name, the only thing I can remember at this point is his name and maybe how to breathe but even that seems to be failing me at the moment. I climax for a third time and he releases my nipple from his mouth.

"You look so pretty while you ride my fingers, go ahead and come for me again, kitten." I can't help but to completely let loose at the sound of him as my final orgasm rips through my body. I become limp on top of him and he slowly removes his fingers from me and slips them into his mouth. "Just as sweet as I thought you'd be."

Littering kisses up my neck and cheek he lifts me up a bit to meet his gaze. "You better clean yourself up, I'd hate for your husband to start a fight with you and ruin your night." Smiling over at him I sit up and pull down my shirt. Then climb back over into the passenger seat and pull down my skirt. Chan fixes the driver's side chair and I wipe my mouth with my forearm, my formerly messy hair is still messy so that's not a problem at all. Suddenly Chan grabs the back of my neck, ushering my face towards his and our lips meet In a heated kiss. I let his lips linger and dance with mine for a while before pulling away.

"Thank you for seducing me." He smiles teasingly as I laugh.

"It was my pleasure." Bending down and grabbing my bag I open the passenger door.

"Where are you -"

"My husband picks me up from here at 12:10am every night." Smiling over at him I almost close the door completely before opening it again. He looks at me hopefully with those damn eyebrows raised and his small grin painted upon his lips, I felt a wave of heat wash over me and I couldnt help what I said next. "Y/n."

"Y/n, thank you." Smiling, I look down at my feet before closing the car door and turning on my heels heading back inside of the studio. Walking up to the counter I smile at Lali as she asks what I'd like.

"A large iced black tea with mint and cream, please."

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rosesloveletters · 4 months

Text

all is fair in love.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Fem. Reader

Word Count: 10,261

Warnings: sexual content / smut.

Summary: The holidays are Wonka's busiest season and his work keeps him away from reader much more than either of them would like. After hours, the two spend a passionate night together as they both make the necessary arrangements to be attentive to each other's needs and empathetic of the complexity of maintaining a healthy romantic relationship that neither reader nor Wonka are accustomed to.

Author's Note: my smut fics are always between 6-10k haha so enjoy. I edited this the best I could, but for some reason I kept switching between first person and second person pov for reader (I don't know why since I always write in second person pov.) I think I fixed most of it, so if there's any parts I missed, I'm sorry. Also, I'd like to mention that Christmas isn't inherently important to the events in this story. It is used as an element only to convey why Wonka is so busy during this time of year, because most people like to buy chocolate and candy as gifts. I know Gene was Jewish, even though I believe he said he wasn't exactly religious. I have no intention of trying to be offensive/belittle/make light of anyone's religion or beliefs and I apologize if it comes across that way because it is without a doubt not my intention.

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

You’ve always believed that if you truly love someone, then you keep it a secret.

You would let that feeling freeze me down to the core – to love the way a person is meant to, but it is that same love that, inevitably and irrevocably, suffocates.

You cannot satisfy that craving the same way one might satisfy a sweet tooth. Once given a taste, it seeps down into your skin, infecting both body and mind, pierces the heart and tears it wide open.

The thundering beat inside your chest cannot be silenced. The fingertips of fate trace the spider-like, lightning-strike veins that split your heart right down the middle.

A broken heart takes love like a beating.

It all comes boiling to the surface, bubbling up and out in the breath of a second.

The truth always comes out, one way or another.

Because if you don’t let the heart have its’ way, then it will tear itself right out of your chest.

***

The days were short, but the hours were long.

You spent much of your time by yourself, as this season kept Willy preoccupied. Time marched onward and the weeks themselves seemed to drag; it was nearing Christmastime and that meant very little to you in the grand scheme of things, except that you’d be seeing less and less of your lover.

Traditionally, the holidays were a time of celebration and joy, gifts and laughter shared between friends and families alike.

However, you lived a nontraditional life now, and Willy had unwittingly shown you that the life of a chocolatier was a solitary one. You knew that the busy holiday season was what pulled him away, but his lack of attentiveness made you wonder…

The only thing that kept these thoughts at bay was the way in which he looked at you when he was around.

Willy was a difficult man to read. Whether that was intentional or not, were you still trying to determine. The only dead giveaway were his eyes – startlingly intense and piercingly blue – that bore no resemblance to subtlety.

The vastness of the heavens, it seemed, were contained within those swirling galaxies. On dark nights when the cloud cover was too thick, you traced the constellations in his eyes to guide you into his morning light.

You could see yourself peeling back the layers of his heart to get to the source of how he truly felt.

Deflect from it all he might – “I’m a trifle deaf in this ear. Speak a little louder next time–” you saw right through him and sometimes that only made him steer clear of you for longer.

It wasn’t that he did not care for you; it was quite the opposite. Perhaps the extent to which he cared was a bit overwhelming for him at times. He immersed himself in his work during these times, else his mind inevitably carried him to places he would rather not visit.

Willy Wonka’s mind was not a place any person, sometimes even himself, should ever go without a guide or a distinct way back.

Though anyone with half a brain could tell that the amazing chocolatier was a troubled man on occasion, his true nature shone through in his creations. Something about this season’s batch of chocolate was a touch sweeter than ones previous. It would go undetected by those who did not have a refined palate, but like the saying goes, a true artist would put their blood, sweat and tears into their work and Willy Wonka was a mastermind.

He knew exactly what he was doing and what he meant to convey, if only between himself and one other: the world’s most famous chocolatier was in love.

***

You sat on the plush sofa in the personal wing of the factory, a book in one hand and a mug of hot chocolate in the other. You were nestled beneath a thick-knit, purple blanket as you read and waited on Willy to return to your den for the night.

You saw less and less of him the closer it got to the holidays, but such was the nature of his business. Christmastime was one of the busiest seasons and the one in which he made most of his money (the second being Valentine’s Day.) People bought exorbitant amounts of candies and chocolate during the holidays and so Willy was forced to expedite production (though never sacrificing quality) and work long, difficult hours preparing new and exciting treats for the public. In fact, it was no well-kept secret that Willy Wonka unveiled his newest creations around this time of year and that very news was plastered in every newspaper, magazine and bulletin across the world as people anticipated the exciting, brand-new sweets there would be to try.

You knew the excitement and rush of the season fed into Willy’s own excitement over his work. He was thrilled to be working on new ideas and expressing himself through his creativity and imagination. It meant the world to him and so you did your best to stay out of the way. You did not want to make the situation about you and, after all, he always made it up to you.

He was aware that his absence bothered you and he tried not to think about the fact that he may or may not be doing irreparable damage to your relationship.

Not every difficult time or situation was an attack against you. It wasn’t personal, nor was it anyone’s explicit fault. Willy had a factory to run, Oompa-Loompas to manage and ideas to manifest into reality. Sometimes, your relationship would take a backseat and if you were serious about being with him, then you would have to be alright with that and you were, although that did not mean that it didn’t hurt from time to time.

It would have been nice to relax and enjoy the season with your lover without his work getting in the way. You would have loved to curl up with him, sitting at opposite ends of the couch and enjoying lots of hot chocolate and hours of warm conversation. If you had your pick, you’d gladly have him here with you now, trading the book in your hands for his warm body, his fingers linked perfectly into the spaces between yours.

You reasoned that this was just how things would have to be for now. No sense in adding more pressure on him by complaining. He was aware of how you felt, but sadly there was nothing to be done about it. You never would have dreamed of asking him to pick between his work and you. That would not have been fair or right. You could handle this, for now, but deep down you missed him terribly.

Even if you chose to spend time with him inside the factory part of the building, he would be working the whole time. There simply was no time for much of anything else. He did like when you would drop by because you were his faithful little taste-tester. Better to try it out on you before selling it to the masses – that would seem cruel, knowing that his candies have had certain negative effects on people in the past, but rest assured, Willy had never given you anything that might harm you.

Any candy which made its way to you had been tested and re-tested to perfection before it ever passed between your lips.

He wanted feedback on his candy before it left the factory and you were more than happy to offer it to him, to which he was enthusiastically grateful. The only problem was, true to inventor fashion, he asked for feedback on everything. He wanted your opinion and was asking for it increasingly often these days. When you didn’t show up to the inventing room on certain days, he’d bring a whole box back to your shared living space and eagerly watch you with anticipation of your positive remarks as you were asked to try every piece.

He was always so grateful to you for that and, honestly, you didn’t mind. You liked candy and chocolate, so there was no reason you couldn’t afford him this act of kindness.

The only thing you really felt like you were missing was him and it plagued your mind most often while you were alone, which was of course very often. You kept yourself busy and occupied your thoughts with other things as much as you were able, but when you settled in for the night, your loneliness crept in and took up the space beside you that would have otherwise been occupied by your beloved chocolatier.

You didn’t mind your alone time, but too much of it was not ideal.

Too much of a good thing came with a price and now it seemed you were paying it with interest.

The sound of a door opening and shutting pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced down at your book to realize you’d just had it propped open against your knees this whole time and hadn’t read a bit. You marked your place and closed it with a huff, setting it down on the end table beside you, your mug of half-drank cocoa with it.

A quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall – thank God he hadn’t cut that one in half – showed that it was ten minutes after midnight.

It did not come as a surprise that Willy was so late. It was only your wildest guess as to what he had been working on, but that point was moot. You did not really care what he was working on.

That thought seemed harsh and you frowned; no, you were adamantly against resenting him for his work. That path was one you would not let yourself go down, a trap of codependence, you told yourself, but why couldn’t he just be a little more present with you? Surely it wasn’t too much to ask.

Perhaps you would ask.

It would make the most sense to be upfront with him about how you were feeling and to be as direct as possible.

You did not move from the couch. You waited on Willy to come and find you, unlike the many days and nights when you might have greeted him at the door.

Several quiet moments passed between yourself and your thoughts before Willy entered the room. He had shed his purple coat at the door, as well as his hat and cane, “there you are, my dear,” his gentle tone made your stomach clench as warmth pooled in your abdomen. Even troubled with doubts, you were still delighted to see him.

You watched as he approached and dropped himself on the opposite end of the couch. He nudged your knee with his, silently asking for a bit more space which you politely gave, “I would have been back sooner, but I’ve been so busy, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Yes, it is that time of year,” you replied coolly. You didn’t want to jump into the meat of the discussion too soon, otherwise he might take offense where there was none.

He seemed in a good enough mood that perhaps this would be the perfect time to strike.

“Yes, my dear, it’s the holiday season which does wonders for my business and I couldn’t be happier.”

His pride in the work he was doing warmed your heart. You listened to him for a while as he recounted what he had been working on that day.

He cared so much and spoke so passionately, yet your mind began to wander.

“Is everything alright, my dear?”

His tender voice captured your attention and you blinked slowly, “yes, I’m fine. But, there is something I would like to talk to you about.”

His lips hitched into a faint smile, then flattened into a serious line. It bothered you, not being able to read his face.

“There is? Well, you know that you can always talk to me about anything on your mind.”

You didn’t want to overwhelm him, not when he was already so fully immersed within his work. He needed time and space to focus. He did not need you hindering his creative flow by hanging all over him and demanding more attention. He already gave so much; how could you even dare to think that he owed you more?

“I know you’re busy this time of year, but do you think it would be possible for us to spend a little more time together?” My voice cracked as I added, “I…really miss you, Willy.”

You hadn’t meant to speak with words that were laced with such pain, but in fairness you did miss him terribly. By the time he made his way to you most nights, you were already in bed or heading there and in the mornings before you’d woken up, he would be gone. It bothered you to not see him and you wanted him to hear it. He needed to know the truth if you meant to be honest with him, you only hoped he’d be able to understand that you didn’t blame him.

Conversations like this always made you second guess yourself.

By this point, you realized that he had not responded. He was probably just thinking about what he would say, but usually it didn’t take him this long to reply.

“Willy?” you gently urged him, reaching out to place your hand on his arm.

Whenever he felt the gentle graze of your fingertips against the fabric of his shirt, he glanced down, admiring the tender touch with a wistful smile on his face before he looked up at you and the emotion held inside of those ice-blue eyes was almost enough to send you over the edge and into uncontrollable sobs of relief.

You felt the tension in your shoulders beginning to dissipate. Good, he felt the same way.

He was still staring at you like there was something more on his mind. That was the way things were with Wonka and you’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t thought on more than one occasion that it’s a good thing you weren’t a mind reader because there were things that went on inside his head that should stay there. It was better that you didn’t try to trace his Machiavellian ways or make sense of the enigmatic man who so frequently surprised you with small glimpses into how he really thought and viewed the world. It was fun getting to know who he was, but the true wonderment was in not knowing him at all.

He tested your mind and all your senses, but never pushed your boundaries. He could knock you off your stride in seconds, then act as if nothing had happened. You were playing his little chess game and he was already three or more moves ahead. It had only been a matter of time before you had fallen into his hands like this.

Things were as they were because Wonka wanted them to be. His quips and wisecracks often went over people’s heads, especially because of how well-versed he was in literature and culture. He could make the whole world fall in love with him at once, then forget him as soon as they were no longer in his presence, but you believed the world adored him much more than he liked to think it did.

“I didn’t say anything sooner because I didn’t want it to seem like I was being insensitive, since I know you’re not intentionally ignoring me.”

This statement made him smile for some reason, “where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; where little fears grow great, great love grows there.” (William Shakespeare, Hamlet.)

At first, you didn’t know what to say. You had a bit of trouble discerning what he meant sometimes, missing the larger picture for deciding why he chose a specific quote at a specific time.

Seeming to read your thoughts, he let out a polite chuckle, “This is to say, even in love do the smallest doubts scare you, but when you are afraid of such little things, you are still in love, too.”

His explanation seemed to help, if only for a second.

It was true that you had your doubts, but those doubts only stemmed from love. That fear which grew inside of you had taken root, but when enough time had passed, it was the love which had bloomed from it.

Both the fear and love would come with a connection as strong as this one.

In the beginning, Willy had never dreamed of having a romantic partner. His solitary lifestyle simply lacked the means necessary to cultivate a long-term relationship. He had never desired romance or human connection of any kind. He had his factory and the Oompa-Loompas to look after; he was stretched thin as it was.

It was with sickening rapture that he sought the reason for why his heart seemed so content within your hands. He had to know the true meaning behind what he felt, even if he had to wade out in to the wild, dark depths up to his neck. He was barely treading water, sinking still, feet kicking desperately and hands reaching, clawing for purchase but there was nothing for him to grab onto. No way to steady himself as his soul careened toward what he had been running from for so long, a runaway train on the track towards trust and away from self-preservation.

At first, you wanted to be the one in control. You had your fair share of demons and setting the pace for the relationship yourself was very important to you, but neither of you wanted to go too far too fast.

You became acclimated to his world quite quickly.

You just seemed to fit right in and, with time, Wonka found himself closer to you than he had ever been with another person.

The two of you had been together for quite some time now and the red string of fate binding your hearts together was pulled taut.

It seemed that you both knew you were in the right hands and the love that grew here was stronger than any fears or doubts which gripped you.

“What scares me the most is that you’re pulling away from me,” you confessed to him, and that revelation made his eyes widen perceptibly, “sometimes I think you don’t even realize that you’re doing it.”

The conversation had shifted and Wonka realized that you were no longer just discussing his absence in light of the holidays. There was deeper emotion and meaning laced within what you were saying to him now.

He was used to being alone, as were you. The only difference was that while you had never lost hope that the right person might come along, he had done everything he could to close himself off. His heart was a precious thing and that was what the world had been after. Yes, he had closed his factory because of theft, but he put his whole heart into his work and, if anyone were to steal his heart, then there would be nothing left for the one whom it belonged to.

He made sure he guarded his heart all these years, even if he didn’t know the reason for it. It was easier to deny the very fact that love was something every person desires, even ones who have become so layered and complex that it would be difficult to imagine what a true love might look like for them.

Wonka was not afraid of anything.

However, if one thing made him apprehensive it was the idea of anyone finding him out.

Not that there was any chance of that; no one was able to think quite like him. But if anyone came close, that meant he’d cling to them forever, holding on for dear love.

His gaze shifted down to your hands that were folded in your lap and reached for one. Long, delicate fingers gently wrapping around your right hand as he brought it to his mouth.

A kiss for each finger, you counted, one two three four five…

Then, his lips made contact with your inner wrist. The sudden and unexpected brush of lips against your sensitive skin made your breath hitch.

“I promise to be more attentive,” he whispered on your skin, his hot breath tickling the inner area of your wrist, “the only one pulling me anywhere is you and I am only moving forward.”

“You’ve got to go forwards to go back.”

He had believed that, in more ways than just one, in relation to his factory and to people, but there was no going back now. Even if that were an opinion, he wouldn’t have wanted to.

Within half a second, he dropped your hand and tilted his head, leaned in close and pressed his warm lips to yours in the most sensual, tender kiss your lips had ever known.

Your heart fluttered in your chest like butterfly wings beating against your ribcage, desperate to free itself and get to his. Your soul sought the kind of connection that your mouths were getting and jealousy was an understatement.

If this was his way of making it up to you, then let it be known that you wanted nothing else for Christmas this year than a clear mind and the taste of your lover left over on your cupid’s bow.

It was all electric, body and soul alight, glistening brighter than fairy lights strung up for the season.

He tasted sweeter than his own candy and you smiled into the kiss at the very thought. He ate a lot of his own sweets, if only to test the taste, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the sugared kisses, your sweet tooth craving satisfied only by his honeyed lips.

Somewhere in the haze you found the opportunity to grip handfuls of his tawny tresses, fingers digging into the soft curls that drove your heart mad with desire. You loved his hair and so infrequently did he let you touch or comb it. It was about as unruly as he was, wild, untamed and free, just like the man it belonged to.

Your gentle tugging on his hair elicited a soft grunt from him and his lips attacked yours more feverishly, taking on a more aggressive quality now that you had accepted and encouraged him.

There was no rhyme or reason for anything that occurred while you were with him, except what was happening now.

Wonka did everything on a whim. Sleeping, eating, working…no schedule, no routine, no nonsense.

“A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.”

Perhaps the most nonsensical thing that had ever happened in Wonka’s factory was your fear that he might leave you.

Strike that. Don’t reverse it.

You didn’t want anything to change. There were more twists and turns in this man’s head than there were in his factory and you had lost yourself trying to find your way out. You never left his mind, not once. Even while he worked or spent time alone, you were in his thoughts, whether it was subconscious or not.

Your own mind didn’t register your movement as you crawled closer and sought out more of his sugary sweetness which was more potent than any nectar of the gods. Your lips devoured his, tasting every inch of the same mouth that poured prose and poetry into your ear each night that you laid with him.

He hummed pleasantly against your lips. His gentle sounds teased you; so rare was it that he ever made a sound during these moments of intimacy. Oh, how you tried, and your futile attempts filled him with great satisfaction. He had more discipline than you ever imagined; living alone for so many years without the warmth of another had taught him to go without, but desperation clung to his bones and manifested through each fervent, heated kiss.

Willy wouldn’t have described himself as needy, but he appreciated physical intimacy when it occurred and sometimes it was as necessary as any other proper communication. He wanted more than a quick romp; he craved human connection. It was completely unfounded for someone like him to want to share a connection with anyone, but here he was asking for it with his mouth on yours and your reciprocation of that same need meant everything to him.

You tested the waters, grazing your teeth along his bottom lip to determine how far he might be willing to go. He didn’t stop you. His lips simply parted, allowing entry of your tongue.

The only sound he made was a little gasp, which you swallowed as your tongue delved in to taste the inside of his mouth. Your hands were still holding the sides of his head, fingers buried deep within his unruly curls.

He helped maneuver your body closer to his, unabashedly bringing you to sit on his lap. As you settled on top of him, one of his large hands moved down to the small of your back and held you firmly in place.

You could feel the heat of his hand through your shirt. You had no grasp of how long the two of you continued to kiss like that. The passage of time, though a precious thing, was unimportant in the current moment. The only thing you demanded more of was him and you would greedily take all that he had to offer you.

You were enchanted by him. He surprised you at every turn and, if it had been anyone else, you’d have questioned where you stood with them, but wasn’t that the point? The less anyone knew about Willy Wonka, the more exciting it felt to be in his presence.

It was impossible to know whether the things he revealed about himself were true or not and there was beauty in that alone. If beauty was in the eye of the beholder, then he had the upper hand here.

You did not stop to see why his hand had suddenly been removed from your back, but any questions you might’ve wished to voice were answered when you noticed him reaching for one of the top buttons on his vest.

The steady progression of events had led you here and you were too immersed within the moment to stop him, but you wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. You were entranced, enthralled, enraptured by the whole of him and his heart belonged to yours.

The wet graze of your tongue against his cupid’s bow spurred him further, lips tangled tantalizingly with yours as his fingers worked open the buttons on his vest.

The threshold had been breached.

The moment was yours for the taking, if you wanted it and you knew that you did.

Lost somewhere between drunk on lust and in love, you began to help him unbutton, starting at the bottom of his vest and continuing until your hands met in the middle of his chest. You followed this same pattern for both rows of buttons.

Coincidentally, this journey ended right above his heart, but another one was merely beginning.

Your hands were shaking with anticipation as you looked up to notice him already gazing at you lovingly. A tender smile curved his lips like a crescent moon and the sunlight bleeding out through the cracks in your soul made the stars in his eyes sparkle.

You cupped his cheek and pressed a gentle kiss onto the bridge of his nose. His arms encircled you, holding you flush against him and his shirtsleeves rode up on his forearms, exposing just a fraction of skin with a fine dusting of sand-colored hair.

You let him hold you to him as his lips attached to your neck. You imagined when he pulled back that there would be an imprint of lips, a tattoo of his love painted across your collarbone, signifying that you belonged to him alone.

You tilted your head to give him better access and he thanked you by delivering a loving nip to the column of your neck.

You hadn’t forgotten your intention.

With hands still shaking, you reached for his vest and pulled it open. His lips detached from your neck in an instant and long, elegant fingers wrapped around your wrist, effectively stopping you from undressing him.

His eyes were crystalline pools of skylight, airy and substantially quantified by the depths within them. They had a mirror-like quality and you could see yourself reflected in them as you held his gaze for a heartbeat too long.

“Only if…this is something that we both want…”

Willy’s words of brevity filled you with wonder.

“If I’m being honest with you, Willy…I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something more than I want you now.”

That single sentence melded with and fused into his soul. In a breath-to-breath admission of consent, your words had tied his tongue with cursive letters.

He breathed a sigh of relief and held within that exhale was his own consent. You had granted him permission, assuring him that you were not offering yourself out of obligation or for complacency’s sake and that thrilled him perhaps as much as the act itself would. He felt the blood rush to his groin and he moved beneath you, shifting your body weight more onto his thigh.

Willy nuzzled your cheek, dragging his nose along your soft skin. His arms had yet to unravel themselves from around you; he wanted to take his time. However, he was increasingly aware of his own sense of desperation. It had been some time since he had last gotten into bed with a lover.

Actually, the last time he had gotten into bed with anyone was with you.

Willy had a low sex drive, but on occasion it would crop up and remind him that he was, in fact, human and had needs, whether it was simple biology or heightened by the desire to connect with the one he loved.

Whenever he thought of a lover and what had previously been just some nameless face at the forefront of his mind, that vision was now you. Yours was the love he sought; your hands were the ones meant to hold his heart.

He let go of you and shrugged off his vest.

Your lips captured his once again and he imagined this was what dreams tasted like.

He went to stand up and you quickly took the hint and moved off his lap. He got up and began unbuttoning his white undershirt while you watched. He could see the fire burning in your irises, your pupils dilated with desire as you watched his delicate fingers pop open each button.

You knew better than to rush him; a treat as sweet as him was meant to be savored.

You took this opportunity to slip your own shirt off your body. With your skin exposed, his eyes traveled across your midsection and his fingers hesitated, fumbling the button he was on. His breath hitched and you swore you heard him whisper the word “beautiful” as he gazed upon you.

Once he had recovered, the swiftness with which he finished removing his undershirt made your head spin. In his haste, he had forgotten to remove his bow tie and unbutton his sleeve cuffs, which made you giggle. He seemed flustered, his cheeks reddening once he realized, and perhaps this was the first time you had ever witnessed him with a blush on his cheeks.

You reached out to help him and a soft chuckle dripped from his lips like maple syrup, “It would appear I’ve gotten a bit ahead of myself, my dear.”

You chuckled as well as his bow tie and undershirt were removed, “well, I’ll take it as a compliment…that you seem so eager to have me.”

Your words were spoken as if in jest, but his response was anything but.

“Doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt that I love,” he quoted, his smooth baritone steeping you in the tea of his desire. (William Shakespeare, Hamlet.)

It was enough to quiet your mind and when he said it, you felt your entire world get a little smaller. Your heightened senses had inflated your soul and carried you to the clouds. You were a runaway balloon stuck in a tree and his words were the hand that enclosed around your string. You had seen vast lands and known love in its many forms, but never until this moment had you felt so much in the presence of one.

His heart knew yours better than it knew itself and the cracks left by heartbreak were filled in by your endless love for each other.

You moved in to kiss him again and his hands cupped your warm cheeks. His breath tasted as sweet as the chocolate he made, which only made sense because of how often you saw him sampling it. He kept a bit in his coat that he’d pull out and nibble upon and often would you go sifting through his pockets for little treasures and treats that he had left over. Sometimes you found such delights that it had to have been no accident that they had been left behind. No, he knew your guilty pleasure was his chocolate and he made sure to satisfy your cravings, both for chocolate and for him, as often as possible.

Your tongue slipped inside his mouth and he finally graced your ears with a very delicate moan.

His hands moved down the length of your arms to finally grab your hips. He pulled you in, your pelvis against his, and you could feel the hard press of his bulge against your thigh.

While you kissed, he began to walk you backwards toward your shared bedroom.

You could not have torn your lips apart to look where you were going even if you wanted to.

You trusted him to get you there safely, perhaps more than you had ever trusted another person or at least you hadn’t trusted anyone this deeply in a very long time. Too many others had taken a hammer to your jawbreaker heart and smashed it to more manageably sized pieces, but once broken, it could never be put back together without its’ once-pristine surface now marred with jagged cracks.

At least the breakage let the light of your soul pour out into his hands…

Willy was stained by your brokenness, his heart bruised the color of your trauma.

He had been burned before, broken in a very real way, and therefore it was never a question of if you would trust him, but how much and when. He knew how long it could take a person to truly open up if they wanted to, but for you, he was willing to wait an eternity and then some.

Time stood still and Willy had the presence of mind to remember how it felt to cradle your body to his when the only things that cemented your souls was an equal share of trust and love for one another and the mutual decision to take just one more chance.

You sighed with relief when the backs of your knees connected with the mattress.

Willy didn’t push you or press for more. His lips left yours in favor of your neck and several chaste yet sweet kisses were left along your collar bone as if his lips were asking for permission without the accompaniment of words.

In between you, you reached for his belt.

He felt your fingers wrap around the waistband of his trousers and a gentle smirk crossed his features, “after something, are we?”

His coy response made the tips of your ears get hot and you huffed, “well, it isn’t my fault that I’ve gone and gotten all excited…”

“I hope you’re not implying that it’s mine,” he replied as his smirk widened.

“I wasn’t implying anything,” your time spent with him had sharpened your wit, “I’m saying it.”

His eyes shared in your mirth, twinkling with laughter at your response. He wrapped an arm around your lower back and pulled you in. With his cheek to yours, lips near your ear, he whispered, “shall we make use of your excitement, then, dear?”

You felt a shudder run down your spine as he spoke to you, the dulcet undertones of his honeyed voice pierced you like a knife through the delicate flesh of an orange. You wanted to sink your fingers into his heart and peel it apart to devour the pieces, sustaining yourself on his love.

You nodded and he deemed it appropriate to continue. He gently pushed your hands from his belt and took on the task himself. He pulled it from the loops and laid it on the chair nearest to him.

When he turned back to you, you were already removing your pants. He smiled to himself, stopping in his tracks to admire you as you undressed. He almost wanted to help you, but held himself back. Mutual trust came at a price and he would not want to overstep any unspoken boundaries. You had not explicitly told him not to help, but you hadn’t told him to do it either and so he decided it was best to let you indicate what you wanted from him and how comfortable you were with the situation.

Neither you nor he were particularly trusting individuals. Your experiences with people who took advantage of others made you wary and skeptical, through no fault of your own. Maturity and wisdom came with age and while you had both grown and learned, you had built walls around yourselves both figuratively and literally, in Wonka’s case, to guard your hearts and protect them.

Now, you were bearing your souls to each other.

It was an unlikely thing, but you were both ready. You had known Wonka for a long time now and you had no doubt that you and he were meant to be in each other’s lives. There was a reason that you were here. Even though you might have needed a bit of reassurance from time to time, it was never because you truly thought he might leave you. Giving word to that unreasonable fear set you free, because in your heart of hearts you realized that you were not afraid at all.

You were lonely.

You had forced it down for years, but acknowledging it now was cathartic, because never again would you find yourself isolated like you had so many years before.

Willy was no stranger to isolation either. Though he had reasons other than your own, he empathized.

It was difficult, at times, for the two of you to find a rhythm. Both of you had been alone for so long that it took time to become acclimated to sharing your lives with each other, but in this moment you both knew that there was no person you would each rather share a life with than each other.

Willy was never at risk of pulling away. He was simply learning how to love you.

As soon as you pushed off your pants and stepped out of them, he was kissing you again. In a flourish of limbs and bare skin, you fell backwards onto the mattress with him. His hot lips descended over yours as his fingers linked into the spaces between your own. In all ways except for one, your two bodies were unified and, if either of you could help it, that would soon be remedied.

The mattress dipped and shifted beneath your shared weight as Willy crawled on top of you. You held his hands for as long as you were capable of doing before you needed to feel him more solidly at your fingertips. You dropped his hand, grabbed his shoulder and dug in your nails to hear him hiss into your ear and nip at your neck.

He couldn’t even finish undressing because you demanded every ounce of his attention.

Your spirits were engaged in this battle of carnality and you had consumed him, corrupted his mind and possessed him body and soul, but all’s fair in love and war, both of which you had waged fervently on his senses.

At risk of ruining the moment, he pulled away and got up to finish removing his trousers. Your chest heaved as you took a moment to catch your breath, propping yourself up on one arm.

“And here I thought…we were just getting to the good part,” I quipped. A teasing smile bloomed on my face as he turned to look down at me.

“And I thought you liked my kisses,” He replied without missing a beat.

His lopsided grin made you giggle, but the sound of his zipper being pulled down tore your attention away from the witty banter. The fire of fierce need had begun to burn bright inside your belly once again after being extinguished to mere embers only seconds ago.

You watched him kick off his trousers and make no move to pick them up.

He moved back down onto the bed and leaned into you. You met him halfway and pecked a chaste kiss onto his lips. Your bodies fit together like two immaculately chiseled sculptures whose delicate features appeared to be made of something much softer than stone.

You knew what he wanted from you now and you felt goosebumps rising on your flesh as you anticipated his caress.

He cupped your head, holding you to him as he lowered you back against the pillows. He liked to take charge of this part himself and you let him, despite the anxiety you felt at relinquishing control over yourself. You didn’t like feeling out of control, especially of your body and Willy knew this. He tried his best to make you feel comfortable and safe, never moving forward without verbal consent.

“Shall I touch you, dear?”

You reflected on his question before you nodded, swallowing thickly before you could make a sound, “yes.”

You knew that he would check in with you frequently to make certain you still wished to continue.

With your consent, his fingertips grazed the length of your arms. His warm touch sent pleasant shivers through you and you fought the urge to arch into him. He had a way of making you feel everything he wanted you to feel with just one touch. It was like magic, the control he had over your body and sometimes you wondered if his creative abilities branched into other realms as well.

His hands slid down your sides, massaging your warm skin and admiring your supple curves, the angles and indentations of your hips. Before he traveled lower, Willy wanted to devote some appreciation to the rest of your body first. His hands moved to your back, working underneath you to swiftly unclip your bra. He had a way of doing things so fast that you barely had time to register what he was doing before it was done. Perhaps it didn’t seem possible, but impossibility did not exist where Willy Wonka came from; if there was a way to do the impossible, he had already figured it out and told no one.

With your unclasped bra no longer pulled taut, he delicately pushed the straps off your shoulders and plucked the hindersome piece of fabric away from your chest. It dropped unceremoniously to the floor and his blue eyes glittered with mischief when he looked upon your exposed breasts.

You wanted to cover them, but he held your arms at your sides. True to the creative genius he was, he had to admire beauty where and when he saw it and you were a masterpiece. His tight smile had relaxed as he gazed down at you beneath him and he practically cooed with appreciation for your form.

“You’re very beautiful,” he whispered heatedly, like it was almost difficult for him to get the words out. He was overwhelmed with all his attention focused on the body before him.

You wanted to thank him for the compliment, but all that came out was a soft squeak.

He chuckled at your little sound and bent his head. He placed a firm kiss on your left breast and you sighed in pleasure at the gentle touch of his plush lips on your pillowy skin. His lips traced the curves of your breasts before encircling one of your nipples, suckling lightly as if it were a piece of candy.

You mewled and arched into his mouth, desiring more from him and as quickly as possible, but Willy liked to take his time with you. He never left you unsatisfied, but you could expect nothing to be fast paced.

His fingers wrapped around your hips to hold you in place as he moved to your other breast and did the same thing. His hot tongue teased your candy pieces to hardness and he hummed his appreciation, sending waves of pleasure down to your core.

You squirmed in his grasp and whimpered pathetically, “please, Willy,” you begged him, “I want you now.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll have me, dear,” he reassured you, his thumbs rubbing placatingly against your hips, “when I’m ready for you to.”

His teasing remark made you huff in irritation until his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your cotton panties and paused you in your tracks.

You whined as his fingers barely breached the fabric barrier before he removed them. His hands moved to your inner thighs and spread your legs apart for him to nestle in between them.

All you could do was watch as he leaned closer and pressed a kiss to your navel, just below your belly button. His kisses traveled lower and lower down your pelvis to your pubic bone and finally to your core. You writhed in pleasure when his mouth found its way to where you wanted it, but your panties were still in the way and you groaned with frustration.

Heat emanated from your core due to your arousal and the crotch of your panties were damp with your wetness.

Your head dropped back against the pillow as he used the tip of his nose to brush lightly against your clit through your panties.

You were so pliant to his will and responsive to his touch that he almost felt powerful. If it had been anyone other than him, he would have, but all he felt in this moment was an overwhelming feeling of love. The fact that he could give you a comfortable experience of vulnerability and pleasure perhaps did enflame his ego a bit, but he loved you even more for it. To see you enjoying yourself because of him was almost too much for him to handle and he could feel his cock swell to attention.

He placed a couple of open-mouthed kisses to the crotch of your panties before he dragged them down your legs. He would have liked to tease you more, but he was already beginning to lose patience and he didn’t want to rush through too quickly.

With your panties removed, he could admire your glistening folds and the sweet juices that had dribbled out of you. His mouth watered as he delved in for a taste, his tongue tentatively flickering against your opening.

You let out a cry and bucked your hips, desperate for him to fill you. You needed friction and fullness to achieve release and Willy knew you couldn’t get either of those things without his compliance. He smirked at that and lowered his head between your thighs.

Your hot core pulsed as more of your honey leaked onto his tongue. He moaned in satisfaction, savoring the taste of your sweetness and the delicious sounds you were making for him. He had never tasted anything this sweet except for his chocolate and if he could have only one of those two things right now he would have picked you without a second thought.

It was almost too much for him to pull his mouth away, but he knew that he must if he were to indulge in the ultimate act of pleasure with you. You both wanted that more than you wanted air to breathe. A greater craving than candy, your existing love and soul connection a stronger aphrodisiac than chocolate.

With a final flick of his tongue against your clit, he dragged his mouth off you. You whimpered at the loss, but in the back of your lust-flavored cotton candy mind you knew that your shared night of pleasure was just beginning.

He got off the bed again and opened the nightstand drawer. He withdrew a small tinfoil packet and a small clear bottle of lubricant.

You were still sprawled out on the mattress, your hair a halo around your head. The darkened room made it difficult to see what he was doing, but your eyes had adjusted enough for you to see movement.

You felt eyes on you and before you glanced up from the object he was holding, his voice broke the silence, “are you comfortable continuing?”

Driven by lust and lover’s greed, you nodded your consent. Willy did not respond at first, waiting on your actual acknowledgement and proper agreement. Your voice was shaky as you replied to him, but you knew what you wanted and were certain in your response, “yes. I want this. I want you, Willy.”

The sincerity in your voice convinced him and he tore open the condom wrapper.

Excitement thrilled you and coursed through your veins, carried into your heart by blood. Your body was singing with sensation as you wanted nothing more than his solid body atop you, his hard length buried in your tight heat.

You watched him with barely-concealed enthusiasm – well, perhaps the only concealment was from the darkness in the bedroom – as he took off his underwear and rolled the condom on. He then squirted a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and coated his cock.

You could hear him jerking himself off and the obscenely slick sounds from the generous amount of lube. He had yet to give himself any physical stimulation up until this point and you were eager to repay the favor.

In the dark, your reached for him and he came to you, ready to meld together and fill you full of himself.

He positioned himself on top and guided your legs around his hips. He propped himself up with one forearm flat against the mattress so that he wouldn’t rest his entire body weight on you and the other guided his condom-covered tip to your entrance.

He gave your forehead a tender kiss as he pressed in. Your lips parted at your sharp intake of breath and your muscles tightened and seized around him. Willy kissed your face, calming you and keeping you still and relaxed until he bottomed out.

He nuzzled against your cheek and moved his free arm behind you to cradle your head.

You tilted your head back and captured his lips. The two of you kissed lazily for several moments as your bodies adjusted to one another. Your walls twitched around his cock, sending jolts of electricity down to his toes, into the pit of his stomach and behind his eyes. Everything felt fuzzy and seemed out of focus except for you.

The one thing that was clear to him was his love for you and the appreciation he had for you being a part of his life. If he could not trust a single soul with his legacy, he knew that he could trust you with himself and that was more than enough.

For once, nothing made you question Willy Wonka; his intentions were clear.

Your fears were just that: fear. It was irrational and based on nothing of consequence. However, the very fact that you were afraid let you and he both know how much you cared.

You would never take Willy, and he would never take you, for granted.

He would reassure you that though he was not used to sharing his world with another, that you were his world now and you would share in every aspect with him and reap the rewards of a unique and whimsical life with perhaps the greatest chocolatier who ever lived.

Take out all the fantasy and spectacle and you were left with only love and imagination.

All these people thought the most fantastical thing about Willy Wonka were his creations, but what took your breath away, and had since the beginning, was the man behind those creations.

You had fallen in love with him as much as you had with his brain and his intellect, his body, his soul. You wanted to dip your fingers into him like if he were made of melted chocolate. You would lick the essence of his existence off your fingertips to taste his candy-coated soul and sugared thoughts. There were not many candies or chocolates of the Wonka brand that you hadn’t tried, but none were sweeter than the man himself.

If he existed only in your mind, then your mind was alive with the thought of him.

All too soon, your thoughts abandoned you as you felt him begin to move.

He slowly pulled out, angled his hips and pushed back in.

The sudden movement jarred your body and you clung to him tighter.

As he began to set a pace, you rolled your hips down onto him each time that he pushed in. This seemed to please him, witnessing you thrusting with him, your bodies moving in unison toward a shared release and reciprocation of pleasure.

He grunted softly in your ear with the effort of thrusting into you. His soft curls tickled your cheek and you bit back a giggle. A particularly rough thrust ripped the sound from your throat and you laughed aloud.

His brows furrowed in amusement at your laughter, but he grinned with you nonetheless.

His thrusts became harsher, deepening as you adjusted and conformed to the rhythm and pace he set that was creating a delicious friction between your legs. You moaned shamelessly into his ear and he thrusted harder, encouraged by the sinful sounds you were making.

Willy kissed you, his lips feverishly moved against yours as he held you in his embrace and your skin blazed with red hot fervor. A thin sheen of sweat clung to your bodies and you could feel the heat rolled off him in waves. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, but it didn’t bother you as you kissed him harder, demanding more intensity out of your shared intimacy. Your core pulsed, muscles gripping and clenching tightly around his cock.

Your moans began to take on a higher pitch the closer you got to your release. Willy could tell that you were close now and he was eager to send you over the edge. Sex was, at least for him, about mutual enjoyment and gratification, not domination, exploitation or manipulation. It was about individuals who loved each other enough to put aside their individuality and become one, just for a moment of bliss.

His forehead pressed against yours as he thrusted into you harder than before, his pace becoming erratic the closer he came to his own release.

As he panted, you felt his breath fan across your face and he smelled of chocolate.

You balanced on the edge of oblivion as your feverish coupling would soon send you into orgasm.

After a few more hard thrusts, Willy slipped a hand between your legs and gently rubbed your clit. Your release seized you, your body shaking violently with hurricane force winds of equal parts pleasure and zest. It was as if the air had been knocked out of you and you were falling down into his waiting arms. Ecstasy radiated from your core, carried in waves throughout your body.

You were alone with your pleasure, waiting on your lover to join you in the afterglow.

You cried out his name as he thrusted into you through your orgasm. He lasted several moments after you came before he released, filling the condom with several hot bursts of his seed.

He had just enough strength left in his body to pull out and collapse beside you. His harsh panting soon turned to gentle sighs as his heartrate decreased and his body cooled. His strawberry blonde curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat and were sticking out at wild angles except for the top which was always a bit flattened from the way he wore his hat.

You reached out and petted his frizzy hair, your fingers delicately massaging his scalp. He let out a quiet little moan and you smiled at him.

With a deep inhale, he sat up and peeled the sticky condom off his softening prick. He tied it up and tossed it in the wastebin, then snatched his underwear off the ground. He picked yours up as well and handed them to you for you to slip on.

You got off the bed and put your panties back on, then crossed the room to the bathroom. A few moments later, when you returned after you had cleaned yourself up, you found him lying in bed waiting for you.

He smiled at you as you approached and extended an arm out to let you curl into his side as you got back on the bed with him. He already had a blanket laid out to pull across your nude bodies so that you could cuddle in modesty and without getting a chill.

He looked down to watch you settle in and you met his gaze for a moment, appreciating his features. His gorgeous blue eyes were like pools of galaxy speckled with stars. His aquiline nose, which most people thought was too big for his face, looked proportionate in your opinion and beautiful just the same. He had the softest features of any man you had ever seen, slightly chubby cheeks, a round face and curved jawline. He was exquisite in every sense of the word and just looking at him made you fall more deeply in love.

As attractive as he was to you, his personality spoke to yours in a language only the two of you spoke fluently.

His appreciation for literature and culture was unique and inspiring and, because it tied in with your own, you learned a lot from each other. His quick wit and casual snide remarks that often passed over other people’s heads made you laugh as though you were enjoying your own little joke with each other.

During your private appreciation for this man, you concluded that you had no reason to ever think he might be pulling away from you.

In surreal Willy Wonka fashion, he seemed to read your thoughts as he finally spoke, “I’d like to see you in the Inventing Room with me tomorrow. I want you to be as involved with the holiday busy season as I am.”

He addressed your insecurities by offering a solution to the problem and your heart felt a bit lighter. He wanted you to be involved in his work so that you didn’t feel so isolated or lonely. He had promised to be more attentive and he intended to do just that, but you could offer him aid and visit him while he worked. True love was buoyed by compromise; you’d see to it that you did your part to keep your relationship strong.

“Forgive me for not being as attentive as I should be,” he continued, “I’ve been so busy, not to excuse myself.”

“I understand,” you replied.

He seemed surprised for a moment, as if he half-expected you to still be upset, “and it isn’t entirely your fault. I should come around more if I’m missing you. We’ll find a solution. We have time.” Willy put his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close so he could kiss your head, “time is a precious thing, my dear. Never waste it.”

Between his words, you heard what he was not saying.

And while he had a point, what you did have was now.

You could agree just to exist for a moment, sharing in the silence of the universe and listening to nothing but your dreams and the sounds of your hearts.

You would fall into each other the same way that you fell in love: accidentally and achingly slow.

One day you would both look up and see how far you had come, but for now, you still had a way to go.

You knew his heart belonged to yours and that was enough to keep trying. Once the busy season calmed down and you had more time to focus on the two of you, you would ease into it like lovers were meant to, but right now you had an obligation to yourselves not to let the fear of failure drive you apart.

It might seem fatalistic to ruin a relationship before it had run its course, but you’d seen it happen and the last thing you wanted was for that to be yours.

You knew deep down that it wouldn’t happen.

Your love was as strong as your imaginations were wild and no mind would ever dare dream the two of you apart.

#willy Wonka #willy wonka and the chocolate factory #willy wonka 1971 #wilder!wonka #willy wonka x reader #willy wonka imagine #willy wonka and the chocolate factory imagine #gene wilder #biblio :: 📖

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crepesuzette2023 · 2 months

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Hi, I would love recs for mclennon fics dripping in sexual tension, like six hours in August by stonedlennon. It doesn't need to have explicit sexual content. Thank you!

Thank you so, so much for this ask—this is a category of fiction I personally enjoy *a lot* (imagine Paul's "I slept with John..." pronunciation).

Here are some favorites that came to my mind. Some have sex on the page, others do not; I remember all of these as having excellent Tension™. I hope you find something you like here! Young J/P:

Streets of Your Town (@with-eyes-closed): Sensual. The upheaval in young Paul's mind as he falls in love with music and John, without putting a name to it. As of yet unfinished, but it's so good I rec it anyway, because it's...[read to find out, take a fan]

All I Know Since Yesterday (RedheadAmongWolves): Paul and John's first kiss at Paul's, after long, sweet hours of trembling fear/excitement. Paul POV.

The Way Things Sometimes Are (@paisanas): Young John is troubled and pining for Paul. Paul is mesmerizing through his eyes.

now and then (there's a fool such as I) (@stonedlennon): The Nerk Twins take the bus to Caversham and share a bed. You can smell the summer grass and the sweaty leathers...

(Ain't no cure for the) summertime blues (orphan_account): John and Paul alone on a hot summer day.

The Photograph (thinkpink20): John finds a Photograph Mike took of Paul and notices...things.

Hamburg:

ageless children, animal sweat (eyeball2eyeball): Read this story to spend time in John's throbbing, unhinged Hamburg mind. No sex on the page, and yet. It's *everywhere*. For such a short story, it takes up a lot of room in my brain. The Paul in this story is one of my favorite Pauls.

Sinful City (thinkpink20). Days and Nights in Hamburg. Paul needs John, and stops questioning things.

In Margaret Asher's music room:

Tell You Something (@louiselux). Lennon and McCartney write "I Want to Hold Your Hand." The tension rises.

In or near Paul's Geodesic Dome:

shotgunning (@pauls1967moustache): John and Paul languidly try something new...

Chrysalis (cloudy_blue): Tension in 1967. Hypnotic and stylish, I love it.

Stop all the Clocks (@javelinbk): After Brian's death, John and Paul retreat to Scotland. Grief and awakening ensue...slowly and sweetly.

Greece:

Way Up Top (@boshemians). Snapshots of J/P desire and spiraling doubts, contained in the Beatles' trip to Greece to buy an island.

Nineteen Sixty-Eight:

Outro (bakerstreetafternoon). From the Summary: 'Had it been this tension that had kept them together? Had it always?'

Bad Luck to Talk (7intheevening): Paul chats with JohnandYoko at a party and follows them home for a cup of tea. What hurts more exquisitly than pining? Unacknowledged pining.

John I'm Only Dancing (@skylikeaflame): Amidst the insanity of the Mad Day Out, desire erupts relentlessly.

The 70's as they should have been:

Down on the Farm (RosalindBeatrice): Incredibly hot and realistic (and funny in just right amounts!). John visits Paul in Nashville; Paul shows off Wings and the family, John stays the night. Dot dot dot.

I can only speak my mind (@paisanas): John's diaries are leaked to the press and printed; Paul reads them. What follows is the sexual awakening of James Paul McCartney as he reads of John's feelings for him. First rate pining, past and present.

I still miss someone/ I know that I miss you, but I don't know where I stand/ close the door lightly when you go (RosalindBeatrice): John and Paul meet in 1976. There is a spark. Few and far between meetings follow.

The Other Eighties (John lives and experiences sexual tension with Paul):

and when broken bodies are washed ashore (who am i to ask for more) (wardo wedidit): John divorces Yoko and visits Paul in Scotland. Soul searching and relationship mending.

The Birthday Party (@merseydreams): John and Paul meet at Ringo's Birthday Party. There is only one bed.

Tension through the Years:

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes (@savageandwise). John is turned on by Paul smoking. 1958—1969.

#asks #fic recs #tension fic recs #mclennon #mclennon fanfiction #mclennon fic #tension #pining #slow burn #all the good things #beatles fanfiction

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orbitalmirror · 12 days

Text

Grand Days and Small Gestures

Pairing: Hunter x Reader

Word Count: 9152

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence.

Prompt: “Why can’t you just be normal?”

Summary: You didn’t expect to end up in Separatist prison cell. You definitely didn’t expect to be accidentally rescued by a squad of clones.

A/N: This fic is a gift for @ladyanidala, who gave me SUCH a fun prompt!! I’m gonna be honest with you, this got rather out of hand…I’m not used to writing romance, and then this pesky little thing called plot got involved. It’s not the most traditional reader-insert fic, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! It was my first foray into a second-person POV, and it was so fun that it inspired me to start dreaming up a (possibly fluffier?) sequel. Thank you so much to @cloneficgiftexchange for creating this event!

Today isn’t the worst day of your life.

Granted, the bar is pretty low; the worst day of your life was probably that time you were undercover in a sect of fascist insurrectionists on Brentaal IV, and you discovered that your encrypted comm was irreparably fried. You were stuck in that hellhole for nine weeks before somebody back in the Corellian intelligence HQ thought, “You know, maybe she didn’t suddenly go dark on purpose.” By the time they came to rescue your ass, you had finally decided to quit this job and go become a baker or something. Then you got back to Corellia and…didn’t quit. Didn’t even draft your resignation letter. Nothing in the galaxy makes you feel quite as alive as espionage does—what else could you do?

So now you sit on the concrete floor of a detention cell, your tailbone aching and your fingers stiff from the chill, and you remind yourself, today isn’t the worst day of your life. The idea spins itself into a sort of mantra: It could be worse. It could be worse. It could be worse.

Your stomach growls in dissent.

Hours have passed since the battle droids caught you, and you don’t know why it’s taking so long for a real Separatist officer to arrive for an interrogation. Clearly there are no living beings in the compound, which means clearly your intel was wrong. The datapad you’re after is too valuable to leave in the clumsy, three-fingered hands of droids. The B2s guarding your cell left about twenty minutes ago, and you’ve spent the past ten minutes trying to pry open a panel on the wall with your little transparisteel knife, the only weapon of yours that wasn’t found by the droids and their metal detector.

The panel finally pops off, and you almost groan in dismay. The only things visible in the wall are a thick bundle of electrical wires and some pipes. The pipes look too sturdy to be damaged by you and your little knife, and anyway, flooding your cell probably wouldn’t do anything except electrocute you. Cutting the wires might cut off electricity to your cell door, but that’s just as likely to leave the door locked as it is to open it, and it also might electrocute you. You’re no technician. It isn’t worth the risk.

It could be worse.

The passing of time is almost visceral now, like the ticking of an analog clock in your ribcage. You shove the panel back on the wall. Time for the ceiling. The cell’s metal bench—you can’t even call it a cot—is just tall enough that you can reach up to pry around the edges of the ceiling tiles. You start on the one in the corner, hoping that there’s a ventilation shaft above it. The left edge is just starting to come loose when—

Click.

Darkness.

That definitely wasn’t your doing.

Half a second passes, and then a loud pneumatic hiss heralds the miraculous opening of your cell door, and the adrenaline really kicks in. Has someone finally come to collect you? But why…

You listen. No footsteps.

You hop down from the bench to peek out the cell door. Nothing to see, either.

Another hiss startles you, and you dart into the hall just as the door suddenly closes again, deafening in the eerie silence. The overhead lights are still off, and only the weak blue emergency lights lining the corridor offer you any sense of direction.

You’re free, and nobody is around.

Well, this just got interesting.

~~~

As you make your way through the base, you quickly realize that something very strange is going on. That something strange is probably best exemplified by the droids lying in scrap heaps all over the place, most of them burned through with blasters, but some of them dismantled in a way that you can’t even identify. Whoever or whatever is in this base with you, you do not want to meet them.

So, of course, you meet them less than ten minutes after escaping your cell.

You’ve picked up a blaster from a fallen B1, and are carefully scouting out the control rooms, looking for anything that can help you find your confiscated ship. Unfortunately for you, the walls and blast doors of the compound are so thick that they’re effectively sound-proofed, making it difficult to tell what lies behind each door before you open it. Despite the fact that you haven’t yet run into any functional droid or living being, you feel a spike of adrenaline every time you enter a new room or hallway.

The next one, you think, opens into the hallway where the main control center is housed. If you were paying enough attention while the droids frog-marched you through the base.

When it opens, you don’t find droids.

You find clones.

There are four. Their armor looks different from the clones you’re used to seeing on the major core planets: all of it is painted a dark grey, their helmets heavily customized. Two of them immediately turn to look at you. One is holding a pistol. The other is holding the scariest sniper rifle you’ve ever had pointed at your face. (And you’ve had quite a few sniper rifles pointed at your face.)

Nope, you think. Not happening.

Immediately, you dart around the corner and slam the button to close the door. Shouts ring through the hallway. You shoot the access panel for good measure. Corellia may be a member of the Republic, but that doesn’t mean you want anybody working for the Senate to know what you’re doing here, least of all soldiers.

Time has suddenly become far more pressing.

You abandon some of your previous caution and take off at full speed through the compound. A few active battle droids wander the halls, their tiny electronic brains seeming utterly flabbergasted by whatever turn of events lead to a group of at least four clones carving through an entire Separatist base. You pick them off with ease. They’re not the enemy you’re worried about.

Where are the rest of the clones?

There’s no way in hell a squad of four men could do this much damage…right?

But there are more pressing matters. There’s no signage in the base, which means you’re relying on memory and educated guesses to make your way to the airfield where you know a wide array of starships are parked. You’ve finally made your way up to the ground level of the base, only minutes away from where you think the airfield is.

Unfortunately, the stars are not on your side today.

Footsteps—organic ones, by the sound of it—are coming towards you down the hall.

You duck into an alcove in the wall and press yourself as deep into it as you can, hoping desperately that you’re hidden from view. A few moments pass, and then a clone in that strange grey armor sprints past you. Then a second, and a third, and a fourth.

A few seconds pop by, and you’re about to peek out of your alcove when a grey helmet pops back into view, startling you so badly that you bang your elbow against the steel wall.

“Who are you?” the clone yells.

“Who are you?” you retort, for a lack of any better things to say.

“Sergeant CT-9901. Call me Hunter.”

You blink at him. He tilts his head at you.

You say nothing.

“Hunter! We need to go!” a voice shouts.

“Are you a Separatist?” the clone called Hunter asks you.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then come on!” he exclaims, motioning you to follow him.

“Where are you going?”

“We’re escaping.”

“You’re going the wrong way!” you exclaim. “The airfield is in the direction you came from.”

“Yeah, and we just rigged the airfield to blow. Now come on!”

Well, shit. What other choice do you have?

Hunter takes off running, and you follow as closely as you can. The tall clone with the sniper rifle is waiting for you at the end of the hall, and he says something to Hunter that you can’t quite make out. They’re probably talking through their helmet comms, you realize. The three of you make your way away from the airfield, through a part of the base that you don’t recognize. Here and there, you catch glimpses of the other two clones up aheads, but they don’t seem to be slowing down at all. Metal carcasses of battle droids are strewn around you.

Finally, you break out of the compound and into the sunlight. It seems to be early afternoon, if you’ve been tracking both the passing of time and the cardinal corrections correctly. The base is located in a valley between rolling mountains, surrounded on every side by thick forest and strange rock formations. You follow the two clones to a large boulder, where the other two clones you saw earlier are standing. One is tall, with goggles in his helmet. The other one is even taller, so tall that you could reasonably call him a giant.

“Who is this?” asks the one with goggles.

“Not a Separatist,” says Hunter. “Which is good enough. Wrecker, are we good to go?”

The giant—Wrecker, apparently—gives Hunter a thumbs up, and hits a button on his vambrace.

The airfield behind you blows up. Somehow, it’s one of the most normal things that’s happened all day.

“That should keep them distracted for at least thirty minutes, which is long enough for us to escape the range of their scanners,” says goggles.

“I don’t want to take any risks. Let’s get moving,” says Hunter. He turns to you. “Alright, Miss ‘Absolutely Not a Separatist’. You coming with us?”

“Is that an option?” you ask.

“As long as you don’t shoot us.”

“Didn’t even occur to me,” you say, honestly. “But where are the other clones?”

“What other clones?”

…you’re joking.

“You did all of that yourself?” you ask, utterly incredulous.

“Sure did!” Wrecker exclaims. “It was fun, too.”

“We specialize in smaller operations,” says Hunter. “Wrecker’s our munitions guy. Tech is pretty self-explanatory. Crosshair’s our sniper. We’re Clone Force Ninety-Nine.”

There’s so much information to be taken in right now, you don’t even know where to begin.

“Alright,” you say, because really, you’re completely out of options here. “I guess I’m in.”

~~~

Cool air burns in your lungs. Everything hurts. Everything hurts. Keeping up with the clones’ long strides has forced you to jog in places, and even then, you’ve fallen to the back of the group. Twenty minutes have passed since the airfield was blown to bits, and in that time, you’ve finally made sense of the incredible influx of information you’ve been given. You’ve also developed a veritable laundry list of questions. Chief among them:

“Where are we going?”

Crosshair turns around, and though his helmet covers his face, he’s definitely glaring at you. “To our cache. Keep up.”

“How much farther?” you ask, trying—and mostly failing—to keep the despair out of your voice.

Crosshair says nothing.

Such a conversationalist.

“What’s going on?” calls a low voice—Hunter’s. All four clones are looking at you now, peering through their unreadable masks.

“I asked where we’re going.”

Hunter pauses, tilts his head. Then he starts making his way back down towards you, his posture tense even as his steps are light and fluid. You eye him closely; despite Crosshair’s rifle, and Wrecker’s size, and Tech’s explosives, you’re getting the feeling that Hunter is the dangerous one here. You just haven’t figured out why, yet.

You straighten as he approaches, expecting him to size you up. Instead, he walks right past you, and sits on a fallen tree.

“When was the last time you drank something?” he asks.

…what?

The question sounds downright concerned. You say nothing. The duration of your imprisonment is not information you’ll give out willingly.

Hunter is unclipping something from his belt, now. It’s a small bottle with a colorless, slightly cloudy liquid inside. He holds it out to you, and says, “Drink.”

“What’s in it?” you ask.

“Water, a mild stimulant, electrolytes, and sugar,” Tech rattles off.

Helpful.

Hunter shoves it towards you a little further, and you push it back. Poisoning is not on today’s agenda…not that literally any of this was on today’s agenda.

“You, first.”

Hunter nods, and pulls his helmet off of his head. His face is…not what you expected. His skin is a light brown, dotted with a few faint freckles on the left side, and dominated by a dark tattoo of a skull on the right. His nose is aquiline, his jaw is strong and rounded, his cheeks ever so slightly hollowed. Dark curly hair falls in a tangled mess to his shoulders, held back only by a red bandana tied across his temple. A few flyaways have escaped its hold, as if yearning for freedom.

You’re a professional. You do not ogle the handsome soldier. Instead, you watch closely as he lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a small sip. Swallows. Your eyes follow the motion of his throat.

Satisfied, you nod, and take the offered gift. The liquid is sweet and a little salty, but otherwise bland. A faint bitterness lingers on your tongue when you’ve finished taking a few gulps.

When you hold the bottle out for Hunter, he waves you off. “All of it.”

It takes you a minute, but you finish the bottle, and thank him as you hand it back to him. He nods silently in response. What a repartee you’ve established.

“You feel better?” Wrecker asks.

“Sure do. Thanks.”

“We stowed the rest of our gear at a spot fifteen klicks away,” Hunter says. “Can you make it that far?”

Now that’s the real question. The fluids and the short rest have certainly helped, but your legs still ache, and the mountain in front of you is only getting steeper as you climb. Fifteen klicks is just a very long walk over normal terrain. Fifteen klicks now…

“Definitely,” you say, with confidence. “Shall we?”

Hunter motions the group forward, and you fall in behind him.

What a day.

~~~

Time starts to blur, after that. Your world reduces itself to the diffused ache of exhaustion in your legs and the tree roots under your feet…and Hunter. More precisely, the mud-splattered heels of Hunter’s armored boots, as you follow close behind. The clones’ pace is almost punishing; you start to worry how long you’ll be able to keep up, as the soldiers plod along without complaint. Well…almost without complaint.

“I’m hungry,” Wrecker groans, only for the fourth time in the past ten minutes.

“With only three ration packs left, protocol dictates that we reserve our food supply until we restock, or until nutrition becomes an immediate concern,” says Tech.

“This is immediate,” Wrecker insists.

“Your appetite has been an ‘immediate concern’ since we were three years old,” says Crosshair.

Your own stomach growls in affirmation, as if feeling left out of the conversation. When was the last time you ate? Hours have lost their shape. At this point, you feel like time is being measured by the number of feet you’ve climbed.

Abruptly, Hunter halts. Without saying a word, he swings his rucksack to his front, pulls out a foil ration pack, and tosses it over his shoulder. It sails through the air in an elegant arc, right into Wrecker’s waiting hand. You try not to be too impressed.

(You fail, because it was impressive. Actually, you’re not even sure how it was possible.)

There’s a pause as Hunter’s hand hovers over his rucksack.

Then: “Catch.”

The warning seems only an afterthought, delivered as the ration pack is already airborne. You manage to catch it anyway, and you turn it over in your hands. It’s cold-start, the kind that’s mixed with water to form a vaguely edible mush. Hunter is already moving forward again.

“Do you have any more water?” you ask.

This time, he doesn’t even bother with a warning as the metal canteen comes hurtling at your head. It stings your hand as you catch it. You tuck the ration pack into your belt so you have a hand free to open the—

To open—

To—

What the hell?

“Is this sealed?” you call out, even though the canteen is clearly half-empty, and you remember him drinking out of it just minutes ago.

Hunter turns and starts to make his way back down to you. Not for the first time on this bizarre trek, you wish that you could see his facial expressions. His body language betrays little, his movements as elegant and efficient as a supersoldier’s should be. When he reaches you, he holds out his hand. You drop the canteen into his palm with a little more force than is really necessary, but he doesn’t react, simply twists open the lid without any visible effort.

“The ration,” he says, holding out his hand again.

“I know how to mix a ration pack,” you grumble.

But you’re tired, and your hands are stiff from the cold, and you’re starting to wonder whether this is an elite super-soldier’s equivalent of kindness. You won’t bite the hand that feeds you. With a nod, you hand over the ration pack. Hunter mixes it with the sort of automaticity that betrays a thousand repetitions of the motion. Your fingers brush when he hands it back.

One swig of the stuff makes you wonder if it’s not too late to go back to the Seppie prison.

“Urghh,” you groan.

Hunter makes a sound that’s almost…oh stars, he’s laughing at you. You’re dying of hunger and thirst and trying to drink what tastes like cardboard in puréed form, and he’s laughing at you.

“Never had GAR rations before?” he asks. “They’re not like what you civilians get for your backpacking trips.”

“That was…rude, I’m sorry,” you say, kicking yourself for reacting that way when he just offered you help.

“That’s the usual reaction,” he says. He swings his rucksack over his shoulder and turns back up the mountain. “Come on, we’ve got a long way ahead of us. Drink it while we walk. You’ll get used to the taste.”

“Stars, I hope not,” you mumble.

Hunter’s rumbling laugh floats back to again, and you smile despite yourself. For a moment, you wonder if you’ll get along after all.

~~~

It turns out rations for six foot tall super-soldiers are really energy-dense. With a stomach full of food—if you can call it food—the day starts to feel a lot less like a catastrophic mission failure and a lot more like a strange little side quest. Wrecker seems to feel the same, a bright levity emerging in his booming voice.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Hunter took on three regs at one time because they were picking on Crosshair?”

“When would you ever have had time to tell her that story?” Crosshair asks.

“There were only two,” Hunter corrects, “and they were almost a year younger than us.”

“What are regs?” you ask.

It’s a can of worms that you’re glad you’ve opened.

Wrecker seems to delight in having an audience, and the other three can’t help but contribute to the conversation. Their stories are all out of chronology, and the discussion is frequently derailed by your complete lack of knowledge about the Grand Army of the Republic. The Senate wants it that way, you know. Honestly, it’s incredible how much intel you’re getting right now…not that you feel like you could use it for anything productive. It paints an ugly picture that the clones don’t seem to realize is ugly, a tale of forced conformity and a brutal life.

The landscape goes by. You learn that most clones like them are considered defective and relegated to maintenance duty. You learn that, although the clones as a whole view themselves as brothers, there’s nasty people in any group. You learn who “regs” are, and about the ones who picked on the 99s—Crosshair especially, who grew up tall but unusually thin, unable to develop the impressive muscle mass that most of the clones possessed. You learn that Hunter, the only one not visibly defective in some way, learned to bridge the gap between his squad and their other brothers.

(You learn that, when his diplomacy failed, he was always willing to throw punches in their defense.)

A story unfolds, of four boys who turned into four men, all so different in temperament that it seems impossible for them to be held together by anything except circumstances. Wrecker starts fights because he thinks they’re fun, but cares far more about what other people think of him than he’s willing to let on. Tech simultaneously lives in his own head and is inextricably steeped in the world around him, every phenomenon looking more colorful through his goggles, every system of nature a machine that can be disassembled. Crosshair is a cynic, through and through, but his loyalty to his brothers runs so deep that you wonder if it might be affection, rather than a sense of duty, that drives him. Hunter…

In all of their stories, none of the other clones truly describe Hunter to you. There are no off-handed compliments that he’s brave, or that he’s kind, or that he’s level-headed. Wrecker tells you, “Crosshair is the best lookout in the entire galaxy.” Hunter tells you, “Wrecker has this habit of offering to help people at very inconvenient times,”—an amusingly brotherly way to say that Wrecker is a generous soul. Crosshair tells you, “Tech saved our mission because he read a book about karking butterflies.”

But still, in between the tales of rescues and hijinks, you weave together the threads, and you find yourself looking at a very different person than you thought you had met when your day began. Hunter’s facade of gruffness is hastily constructed and easily chipped away, and beneath it he is not a complicated man. Above all else, he is singularly devoted to protecting others, and everything else about him seems inconsequential in comparison.

Evening falls, and you make it to the place where the clones have stored their gear. Their ship, Hunter explains, is another twelve klicks away, near a small outpost that they initially investigated, and then decided not to infiltrate.

After you’ve finished your dinner—which includes some real food this time, even if it is canned—you find yourself sitting by a tiny brook, too small for anything to swim in it. A day’s worth of stories tumble around in your mind.

You only hear Hunter coming when he’s a few feet behind you.

“I won’t ask you what you were doing in a Seppie detention cell.”

Smart man, you think.

“But,” he continues, “whatever it was you did, they’re going to be after you as much as they’re after us. You need to be able to protect yourself.”

You resist the urge to respond with a dry, “Yeah, no shit, Sergeant.” Instead, you offer a non-committal hum.

“I’ve got a spare DC-17 pistol. You should learn how to use it.”

You turn to look at him. He’s standing with one hand on his hip and the other holding his blaster, empty of a power cell. He looks very serious.

You try to resist the urge not to laugh. You’ve had a blaster in your hand since you were twelve years old.

Instead, you say, “Sounds like a good idea. Now?”

“No better time,” he says.

He makes his way over and sits down next to you, and you find yourself leaning in to watch as he turns the blaster over in his hands.

“So we’ll start with assembling it…”

You’re only half paying attention to the actual words tumbling from his lips. Like a sweater catching on a bush, your mind catches on the low, rumbling timbre of his voice. The sound buzzes in your ears. The sun is going down, but you could swear it’s getting warmer. Was he always that—

“Were you paying attention?” he asks, breaking your reverie.

“Yes,” you lie. Well, half-lie, because you were paying attention…to other things.

“Repeat back what I just told you.”

Well, that definitely isn’t happening. In lieu of an answer, you pluck the blaster and its power cell from his hands. Your conscious mind is barely engaged as you assemble it with steady hands, as quick as you reasonably can without jamming it. A DC-17 isn’t your preferred style of pistol, but the principle is the same.

And if you’re not mistaken, the subtle arch of Hunter’s brow means that he’s impressed.

“Good. Now, this blaster handles a little differently than the ones you’ve probably used…”

Maybe it’s the smooth confidence in his voice, or maybe you’re just desperate to learn more about the man, but you find yourself going along with it. You nod as he explains the kickback of the weapon, its effective range, its possible styles of blaster bolts.

Finally, he stands behind your left shoulder, and quietly instructs you to aim the weapon. It’s as easy as breathing. His hands come up to adjust your grip; his fingers are warm and rough, heavily calloused by his own use of weaponry. The heat lingers even as he pulls away, apparently satisfied with the positioning of your hands.

You immediately slide your grip back to where it was.

“My hands are smaller,” you explain, even though you don’t owe him an explanation, because you’ve been doing this at least as long as he has. You almost tell him that, too, but it would reveal more about you than you actually want him to know.

“Mmm,” he hums, his face now tantalizing close to your ear. “See if you can hit that hollow tree.”

The tree is maybe thirty feet away. Half of you is wildly offended by the suggestion that you couldn’t hit such an easy target. The other half of you is ruled by the pounding of your own tyrannical heart, Hunter’s mere proximity throwing you out of your disciplined calm.

You breathe in. Breathe out. Aim. Squeeze.

There’s now a burning hole in the center of the dead tree.

“Good!” Hunter says, and good heavens, could he not stand so close? “Now—”

Fweeoo.

Maybe you should feel bad about cutting him off. You don’t, at all.

Fweeoo.

Hunter is silent, now, just standing there watching you draw a neat little line of smoking holes in the tree. The petty part of you is winning your internal war, so you line up a sixth shot, turn your head to meet his gaze, and pull the trigger. His dark brown eyes flicker away, then back to yours.

“You’ve made your point,” he murmurs.

You glance at the tree, where a wisp a smoke rises from a knot in the bark. It’s not a perfect bullseye, but a victory nevertheless.

“I’ve made better points,” you retort, smiling. Four precious seconds pass before Hunter finally steps away.

“So, no target practice for you, then. I set up your bedroll. You should get some rest.”

“Which watch should I take?”

Hunter frowns slightly. “None of them. I’m going to scout out the area for a bit longer, then I’ll take first watch. Crosshair and Tech take second and third.”

“Do you want a second pair of eyes?”

“Don’t need them.”

You nod, and suddenly realize what an awkward thing that was to say. “Well then, I’ll head back up to camp.”

“Goodnight,” says Hunter, softly.

You don’t manage to summon a response.

(Your heart still pounds against your ribs.)

~~~

Despite the food, rest, and water, the morning’s trek is harder than yesterday’s. The terrain turns rocky and the foliage becomes sparse, leaving you exposed to the cold wind. The group’s pace slows as you make your way down the mountain, carefully stepping around loose stones that could send you tumbling. Your eyes are once again trained on Hunter’s heels. You trust him more than you trust yourself to pick out a safe path on the treacherous slope.

Still, the difficulty of the endeavor doesn’t seem to dampen the squad’s mood. Hunter’s helmet is off, strapped to the top of his pack, and he often tilts his face towards the sun. The wind blows his curly hair in every direction, until the bandana is only keeping half of it out of his face. Tech is delivering a detailed lecture about geology. You have no idea what he’s talking about. Wrecker seems as confused as you are about the subject, but while you simply let the words wash over you, Wrecker eagerly interjects with questions and commentary. Their dialogue is far from socratic, but it starts to intrigue you, and you can’t help but smile at the exchange. Every once in a while, the conversation is punctuated by a comment from Crosshair, dripping with sarcasm and yet received with good-hearted laughter. Hunter’s contributions, frequent at first, begin to taper off. The other three don’t seem to notice, but then again, it’s not their job to study people. It’s yours.

You’re about to ask him what’s wrong when he answers your question preemptively.

“Someone’s in the ship,” he says, turning around to face the group.

“Clankers?” Wrecker asks.

“No. I would have felt them if they were droids. I’ve been sensing something else: comms, or another type of small electronics. But just now, they turned on power in the ship.”

The cogs in your head are turning. Did you hear him correctly?

“How do you know?” you ask. “What do you mean, you felt…”

You trail off as Hunter holds up a finger to silence you. His brow is drawn into a tight scowl and he closes his eyes, tilting his head as if listening for something.

Tech makes his way over to you. Quietly, he explains, “Hunter can feel electromagnetic frequencies. He can sense droids, or the electronics that people carry on them if they’re quite close. When the electrical power on the ship is turned on, those frequencies change, so he can feel those, too.”

“How could somebody turn your ship on without a key fob?” you whisper.

“The ship has no key fob. It would be dangerous to rely on a small object, which could easily be lost or damaged during a mission, to access our only means of escape. One can enter the ship and activate some systems with no restrictions, and the engine can be started with a key code.”

“And somebody just got on your ship?”

“Apparently, yes.”

You glance up at Hunter. His right thumb is rubbing absently at the scuffed paint on his vambrace.

After a long moment, he says, “There are definitely no droids. I think there are locals here, and we didn’t realize it. We need to move. The ship is only a fifteen minute run from here.”

“Should we leave the packs?” you ask.

“Leave everything except weapons and combat gear. We’ll put the explosives and grappling hooks in Wrecker’s pack.”

“Aww, yeah!” Wrecker cheers, albeit quietly. The rest of the group is in motion immediately, rearranging their burdens and leaving all by the necessities tucked under a rocky outcrop. You have no rucksack, so you help Wrecker in carefully repacking the explosives into his. You’re almost finished when you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder.

“You’ll want these,” Hunter says. He hands you two spare power cells for your blaster.

“Two? But you only have three spares.”

“I’m hoping we can reason with the locals,” he says, “or scare them away. But if things got really bad, I’ve got this.”

There’s a metallic hiss as he slides a vibroknife out of the sheath on his forearm. He twirls it in his fingers a few times, a display of skill so casual that it feels almost unreal.

Wait.

“Back in the base, did you stab those droids?” you exclaim.

Hunter grins, a full smile that seems so out of place in your current situation. And yet, you find yourself mirroring it right back at him.

“Let’s go get our ship back.”

~~~

Jagged rock digs into your skin as you lie on your stomach on a ridge, peering out at the clones’ ship. Hunter was right; you can vaguely make out the shapes of at least three humanoids milling around it. From where you are, though, you can’t see any more details than that. The group’s only pair of binoculars is currently in Crosshair’s hands.

“Three outside the ship,” he says. “Armored, helmeted, and carrying blasters. These might be more than just locals.”

“Anything else?” Hunter asks.

“They’re waving their hands at each other.”

Hunter holds out his hand for the binoculars, and Crosshair hands them over.

“Sign language,” says Hunter. “Either they don’t want to be heard, or they can’t hear. I can’t feel how many there are. The ship is interfering too much.”

“Are they doing anything to the ship?” you ask.

“Not from the outside. Who knows what they’re doing inside of it.”

“I have encrypted all information present on board our ship,” says Tech from next to Crosshair. “It would be nearly impossible for them to elicit any intelligence from its databanks.”

“I’m more worried about them gutting it,” says Hunter darkly.

To your surprise, he does not hand the binoculars to Tech next—he hands them to you. Nodding in thanks, you take them, and try not to think about the way his shoulder presses against yours. You fine-tune the focusing knob until you have a clear view of the people standing in front of the ship.

Then you almost drop the binoculars.

Hunter notices the jerk of your hand immediately. “What’s going on?” he asks, alarmed.

What’s going on? What’s going on?

What’s going on is that you are never getting that ship back, and you’re all in deep shit, and you’re starting to wonder if you really will quit your job this time.

Kark. This.

“Those are Third Hand,” you say.

“Third Hand?”

“Mercenaries. They’re…” you trail off as you watch one of the distant figures make a wide sweeping motion with his right arm. You wrack your brain trying to remember what it means, but it’s been years since you’ve encountered one of the Third Hand. Usually, the correct response to encountering one is to run very fast in the other direction and pray to anybody who will listen that they don’t follow you…and not to ask them for sign language lessons. The only reason you even recognize them is because their appearance is so distinctive: Ubese filter helmets and cortosis-weave plate armor, painted in swirling multicolored hues with jagged black symbols on top, studded with spikes. The effect is like a monstrous creature emerging from a beautiful supernova. These ones have relatively few spikes each—a good sign, but not a great one.

“What?” Hunter asks.

You refocus yourself. “They’re Ubese mercenaries. Very good ones. Usually contract with the Spice Cartel.”

“So what are they doing out here?”

“Nothing good. If there are six here, there are probably at least twelve in the area.”

“How do you know there are six? Can you see them?”

You’ve mentally catalogued everything you’ll be able to learn from looking, so you hand the binoculars back to Hunter.

“Third Hand always travel in groups of threes. There are three outside, so there will probably be three inside.”

“Six is manageable,” he says.

…manageable? He’s joking. He has to be joking. The man who used to start fist-fights to defend his brothers would not turn them into target practice for the Third Hand.

But his voice is deadly serious.

“Six against four?” you ask, incredulous.

“Six against five.”

“I’m not wearing armor. I’m not a soldier. I don’t count.”

“I’ll still take those odds. We need to complete the mission, which means we need to scout the other large bases on this moon. And for that, we need our ship.”

“They’re armed to the teeth and don’t shy away from killing people like you do.”

“We’ve had worse. We need to complete the mission,” he repeats.

“Hunter, what is wrong with you?” you whisper-scream, utterly furious but fully aware of how exposed your position is. “Do you actually think it’s a good idea to take on six extraordinarily well-trained mercenaries just for a ship? Any sane officer would turn his men around right now and send for evac!”

“We don’t need an evac!”

“Stars help us, Hunter, stop trying to be a hero! Why can’t you just be normal?”

Hunter goes deathly still.

Silence falls upon you; the air seems to turn brittle. You glance between the men. Crosshair is staring at you coldly. Wrecker is fidgeting, his eyebrows raised in alarm. Tech is glancing between you, Hunter, and the display on his Hud, his fingers still tapping against his wrist comm.

Hunter isn’t looking at you.

“We have never been normal,” he mutters.

The word seems laced with poison, and your chest clenches. Of course you had to go and put your foot in your mouth. Of course you picked the one adjective that would feel so personal to him. His expression is angry, but somehow you get the feeling that it runs deeper than that.

“Hunter,” you say, softer this time. “This is a suicide mission.”

“Then don’t come.”

Stubborn man! “Has it not occurred to you that I don’t want you to die? Any of you?”

Hunter does look at you now, his face a mix of so many emotions that it’s become unreadable. You meet his dark eyes and hold his gaze, willing him to understand. Willing him to trust you.

“We’ll be going home with one less ship and no information,” he says. Damn him. “We don’t even know where the datapad is, now.

Something about that sentence catches in your mind. You don’t even know where the datapad is. You don’t…

…no, you do.

It all clicks together.

“Yes, we do.”

“What?” the men chorus, sounding more alike than they ever have.

“You told me that there’s a small outpost near here, right?”

“That outpost was far too small and poorly-manned to contain the datapad we’re looking for,” says Tech. “The Separatists would never leave something so valuable so vulnerable.”

“But what if it is well-guarded? Just not by droids.”

Hunter shifts, turns to look at you for real now. The anger hasn’t entirely faded from his face, but there’s something else there now, a new glint. “Are you saying that the outpost is guarded by these mercenaries, and the datapad is actually being kept there?”

“It’s the best explanation. How much do you know about the outpost?”

All four men glance at each other. Wrecker grins.

“Well,” says Tech, “when I sliced into the Separatist servers…”

~~~

The plan is insane.

The plan is so utterly insane that you wonder if it wouldn’t be better just to take on six mercenaries in a firefight to get the ship back.

The outpost is less than an hour’s hike from the ship; the clones were able to land close to it because it lacks the long-range ship detection system that the large base had. The mercenaries have only been at the ship for twenty minutes or so, and based on what you know of the Third Hand, they will pick it apart piece by piece before they’re satisfied. That takes six men out of the running, but the second the alarm sounds at the base, your countdown will begin.

Hunter and his bizarre superhuman abilities prove invaluable. From this range, he can tell you that there are somewhere around forty droids, and that they’re remotely controlled. Tech has been able to override certain models of remote-control battle droids in the past, and he’s confident in his ability to do so here.

Crosshair will set up on the hill overlooking the outpost and cover Wrecker, who will launch an artillery attack against the east end. You, Tech, and Hunter will sneak in through the north entrance, where Tech will slice into a terminal and take control of the droids to attack the mercenaries. You and Hunter will look for the datapad, and once you have it, you’ll steal a ship and escape.

So, just normal Taungsday things.

“If anything goes wrong,” you say, “we scrap the mission. If their scanners are strong enough to detect us, we quit. If the droids are the wrong model, we quit. If there are more than fifteen men, we quit.”

Tech, Wrecker, and Crosshair agree.

Hunter just glares at you.

The trek to the base is made in silence. Your trigger finger is itchy, and you startle at things that shouldn’t bother you: small animals darting between the rocks, your foot sinking to deep into mud, Crosshair clearing his throat. The group walks in single file: Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, you, and Crosshair. You can’t see Hunter from here. It’s better that way.

At one point, Wrecker falls back a little to walk side by side with you. He leans down a little, as if to whisper conspiratorily. The effect is comical—he really just ends up hovering far above your head.

“We, uhh…we failed our last two missions. It was bad. The Admiral said that Hunter made a bad call, and if we couldn’t do the next one, we’d be sent back to Kamino. Said if we couldn’t function like a normal squad, we shouldn’t be here.”

“So if you fail…”

“Tech and me go to maintenance. Hunter and Crosshair have to teach the cadets. Hunter doesn’t mind it”—you remember his careful instruction with the blaster, and a smile flickers across your face—”but he’d rather be out here.”

“Well, then,” you say, shoulders straightening. “We better not fail.”

~~~

The first ten minutes are a dramatic, spectacular victory.

There’s more firepower packed into Wrecker’s rucksack than you could possibly have imagined. The ground shakes when he begins his assault, and a small part of you worries that he might do his job too well, and send the outpost crashing into a pile of rubble. But, though Wrecker might not always come across this way, you spent much of yesterday listening to stories about him: the man is brilliant with explosives. What you wouldn’t give to be watching the display through Crosshair’s scope right now.

Tech, Hunter, and you manage to sneak into the base with little issue. All of the alarms in the base are already going off, so your illicit entry adds nothing new to the cacophany. Quick as a flash, Tech slices into the outpost’s computer system, and then the real fun begins.

The droids are only B1s, but the great strength of B1s is their numbers and their complete disregard for their own safety. Through the outpost surveillance system, you watch the Third Hand mercenaries scramble to deal with the chaos wrought by explosions on one side and traitorous battle droids on the other. There seem to be nine of them here, and before you and Hunter even set out to look for the datapad, four are already dead or seriously wounded.

(Although you know that they’ve all killed more people than you could count, you still wince at the carnage.)

When all of them seem sufficiently occupied, you and Hunter set out, blasters locked and loaded. After three turns—right, left, right—Hunter motions down a narrow corridor.

“You go that way, look on the west side. There’s nobody there, and there’s a communications room about fifty feet down. I’m going south, this way.”

You resist the urge to argue with him, as much as you want to. He took a chance, trusting you, and now you need to do the same for him.

“Comm me if you find anything,” you say.

“I will.”

You’re sprinting down the hallway when you hear him call out, “Be careful!”

One by one, you sweep the rooms off of the hallway. Most of them are small storage rooms or engine rooms, with one small dormitory. At last, you reach the communications room. Knowing that this is the room most likely to have people in it, your heart pounds as you open the door as fast as you can, blaster raised. It’s empty.

Adrenaline keeps coursing through you as you search the entire room, looking for the datapad. There’s nothing. On your way out, you notice a box of empty data sticks. It’s not what you’re here for, but you shove one of them in the nearest console and wait for it to download the basic schematics of the computer. There’s no time to go searching through the computers for information—there’s probably nothing useful on them, anyway—but you’re hoping that knowing what kind of tech the Separatists are using might help somebody back at HQ.

Bzzz. Your comm goes off.

“Hunter?”

“I found the datapad. It’s at the end of the south corridor I went down, at the very end on the left.”

“On my way,” you say.

In the privacy of the empty room, you allow yourself a sigh of relief. This is not your standard sort of operation. Explosions are still shaking the compound, though they’re beginning to slow down, and you eject the datastick even though it’s not quite finished. You’re here for one thing, and Hunter has found it. Only a few more minutes. Then you can all get off of this planet.

Luckily, you encounter no mercenaries during your sprint to where Hunter is. When you arrive, you find him leaned over a datapad that’s been detached from the main console, a strange-looking datastick plugged into its main port. Hunter glances back and nods a greeting at you.

“Almost done,” he says.

You fiddle with one of the datasticks that you swiped from the communications room, ready to switch yours with his the moment that his download is finished. The next twenty seconds feel like eternity.

Then: green light.

Hunter yanks his datastick out of the console. Then, wiith a flash of movement so fast you can barely processed what just happened, he sinks his vibroblade into the datapad and tears it down the center, splitting the machine into two sparking hunks of ruined metal.

~~~

Here’s the thing:

You’re a spy. Spies have rules. Perhaps chief among those rules is, “Don’t trust anyone.” Especially, “Don’t trust foreign special operatives who you just met yesterday.”

Here’s the thing:

That intel was kept on an encrypted datapad that could not be accessed remotely. It was not backed up. And Hunter just destroyed it beyond any hope of recovery. While his mission is safe and secure in his pocket, yours is a complete loss. And he did that on purpose.

Here’s the thing:

Until five seconds ago, you actually liked him.

It takes a moment before your brain truly catches up, and by then he’s moving towards the exit.

“Let’s go!” he calls.

You hate your traitorous legs for the way they heed his order without question, pounding against the concrete floor as the two of you sprint through the halls of the compound. You hate your traitorous hands for firmly gripping your blaster, not once reaching out to grab him by the shoulder and stop him. You hate your traitorous voice for not crying out in protest, for not calling him a liar and a cheat and a terrible excuse for a human being.

You hate yourself for doing as he says, even as his betrayal lies in a smoking heap behind you.

Your body moves automatically, dodging behind a corner when you see a mercenary. Hunter strafes in the opposite direction and takes a few shots at the man. By the thump you hear, you presume that one of them landed.

“Bet you’re glad you don’t have a ‘normal’ soldier with you right now,” Hunter quips.

Anger rises in your throat. Is that really what he’s hung up on? Your single comment, that’s what made him destroy that datapad, ruining your mission? Maybe you’d understand better if he’d done it for the sake of the Republic, but this just feels like a low blow.

As you round the next corner, Hunter pulls off his helmet and tilts his head, apparently listening for something. Briefly, his eyes flicker to yours, and he gives you a cocky half-smile.

Asshole, you think. It’s a petty word and a petty thought, but your anger is pulsing through your body with every beat of your heart, every memory you’ve formed in the past day suddenly tainted. Quieter, but just as poignant, is a deep feeling of shame. Were you really fooled by a handsome face and a few acts of kindness? Is this the man he’s been all along?

You shake your head to clear the thoughts away. Right now, you need to focus. This is the final leg of the plan: you and Hunter have to get to the far north-east side of the compound, where three ships are kept in a tiny hangar: two fighters, and one shuttle.

Hunter is yelling at Tech through comms: “Tech! Open the door into the hangar and get over here!”

You can see the door slowly open up ahead.

So close.

You’re nearly to the door, making a beeline for the nearest fighter, when you hear Hunter shout.

Then something slams you into the wall. Heat envelopes you, carried on a strong gust of wind. You struggle to take a breath.

One second passes.

The sound of blaster fire rings in your ears.

Two seconds pass.

You finally realize what’s happening. Hunter is pressed against you, his arms held up to protect your head. It wasn’t a something that threw you against the wall just now; it was him, pushing you out of the way of what seems to have been a grenade.

“Got ‘im!” Wrecker yells over comms. The sound rings in your ears, tender from the sound of the explosion.

“If my counting was correct, that was the last of the Third Hand,” says Tech.

“Not the last,” says Crosshair. “I see the other six. They’re on their way here. Four minutes.”

Hunter shifts away now, and you try to take a full breath through the smoke.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

You nod. Your voice feels too raw to work right now.

“Come on, we don’t have much time.”

Emotions are bouncing around your head like a damned pinball machine, and you push them all away, focusing on the task at hand: you need to get to a ship. You need to escape. So you follow Hunter through the door and into the hangar. The wind has changed, blowing the smoke of Wrecker’s explosions away from you, and you breathe deeply as you run.

To your surprise, Hunter doesn’t make for the shuttle. He makes for the nearest fighter, instead. Across the hangar, you can see Wrecker wave.

“Wrecker!” Hunter yells. “Start the shuttle!”

“On it!” Wrecker calls back.

“I thought you were all going together,” you say.

“We are. I need to give you this, first.”

Hunter takes your hand and presses something small and hard into it. The tips of his fingers are warm and calloused, and though you could count on his hand the number of times you’ve touched, he feels as familiar as a home.

“Here,” he says. The warmth is gone as quickly as it came as he pulls away, ducking around the fighter to look around the hangar, scanning for enemies.

All you can think to say is: “What?”

“You can access it with the code 223-228-24!”

“What is it?”

“The datastick. Don’t access it until you’re in a secure position.”

“I don’t understand. You destroyed the datapad.”

Hunter turns to look at you and cocks his head. “I got a copy first.”

“Just one, though.”

“I downloaded it to my wrist comm. This is the original.”

Oh.

Oh!

You want to sigh-laugh-sob with relief. Hunter was never leaving you out to dry. His comment about being a normal soldier…that was teasing. You were running for your lives, being shot at, and he was teasing you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, because your voice can’t be trusted in full.

Hunter only shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. We’d have been dead men without you.”

“Not…not the datastick. I just…”

Words stick in your throat. There’s an ocean between you and Hunter that you can’t seem to cross, the crash of its waves inaudible over the pounding of your heart. There’s an ocean between you, and it’s only an arm span across. Words stick in your throat, but your feet…

Your feet are as light as ever, and you find yourself standing in front of him, looking up into dark eyes that finally seem readable. Hope and fear flicker across them in equal measure.

You move slowly, telegraphing your movement to give him a chance to pull away, but he doesn’t. The world stills, and you brush the gentlest kiss on his left cheek, where ink meets blank skin.

(If it were quieter, you would hear his delicate inhale as your lips touched him.)

“Thank you,” you murmur.

You start to step away, hoping—praying, maybe, to all the stars that will listen—that your message was received and decoded. Then a warm hand, calloused from war and gentled from compassion, takes yours. This time, there is nothing for him to give you; there is only an affection that feels so out of place and so, so right. His other hand tilts your chin up.

When he kisses you, all you can think is, finally.

It’s everything that the past two days haven’t been: slow, unsure, and tender. You feel yourself smiling despite yourself. You feel him smile back, and the kiss is broken in the best way possible: with soft laughter.

Time is slipping like water between your fingers.

You kiss him again. And a third time. You’re starting to wonder whether you’ll ever tire of it when the rumble of a ship tugs you from your bliss. It’s Hunter who pulls away first.

“You’ll be okay?” he asks.

The ghost of a smile still lingers on his face, but his brow is knit together with concern.

“I’ll be fine,” you reassure him. “Really. I’m a professional.”

Hunter snorts. “We found you in prison.”

“Occupational hazard!”

Hunter’s laugh is brighter than you’ve ever heard it, and sadder all the same. You brush a finger along his jaw, as if you can catch that laugh in your hand and tuck it in your pocket.

“I’ll see you around, Sergeant,” you say.

Hunter nods. “I’ll see you around.”

The way he turns is abrupt, as if forcing himself to move before he changes his mind. You waste precious seconds watching him sprint across the tarmac and up the ramp of the ship,

Hunter doesn’t look back, but as you watch the ship’s engines ignite, you can almost feel his gaze still lingering on your face.

Time to go.

Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a goodbye.

#clone fic gift exchange #sergeant hunter #tbb hunter #hunter x reader #hunter x you #the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #TBBE24

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loveesiren · 5 months

Text

𝖲𝗇𝗈𝗐𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 - 𝖢.𝖲.

DISCLAIMER: This is my first Sturniolo fic and I have taken a longggg break from writing so I am very rusty. Sorry in advance that this most likely sucks. I'm also not great with fluff but I thought this was cute so I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think <3

Synopsis: In which Y/n finds the one person who brings joy to her life.

Warnings: Language, broken family (deceased father, alcoholic mother, troubled youth), fluff, cigarettes, very brief mention of drugs

Word Count: 2.4k+

“I WISH I WASN’T EITHER!” You screamed at your mother before slamming the door and walking out into the cold winter night. You grabbed a cigarette from your coat pocket and placed it between your teeth as you searched for your lighter. You brought it to the tip of your cigarette, flicking it a few times until it finally lit.

I wish you weren’t my daughter. The words echoed in your head as you made your way down the dimly lit street. Light snow fell from the sky and your neighborhood was silent, the fluffy white powder absorbing all sound. The space around you was liminal. It was nights like these that were perfect for clearing your head.

Chris’s POV

I heard Y/n yelling and I immediately turned my attention to the window. I slipped my headphones off, completely ignoring Matt and Nick and abandoning the game. I watched as Y/n clicked her lighter to light up her cigarette before walking off down the street. She looked sad. That wasn’t unusual. Especially this time of year.

I’d grown up next to Y/n my whole life. I’d dare to even say she is my friend. Although maybe she doesn’t feel the same about me? She was confusing at times. She was often quiet and kept to herself at school. She was really kind. But I’d also seen her lay someone out before for disrespecting her. She was smart as hell but always managed to end up in detention and for some reason I found myself getting into situations to get detention just so I could hang out with her.

Obviously, my parents didn’t love that but she was so intriguing. The whole neighborhood knew of her situation. Her mom definitely wasn’t the most pleasant neighbor. Y/n tried to escape that as much as she could but she was still viewed as the “troubled kid” growing up. Now we are 18 and on the verge of graduating. I was beginning to fear that she’d be gone soon. She’d told me before how she couldn’t wait to get out of this town, that there was nothing keeping her here.

Where would you go? I texted her.

Idk. Maybe the Outer Banks? Learn to surf, search for treasure, live like a Pogue. Lol. She responded.

We didn’t always stay up late texting but when we did our conversations were always interesting. I was always excited to see my phone screen light up with her name. It wasn’t constant, but often enough that Matt and Nick began to notice.

“Who are you texting?” Nick asked one day.

“Yeah, you smile like a goof every time you look at your phone.” Matt added.

“No one,” I responded quickly.

“That’s a fucking lie. Who is it?” Nick asked again. Matt quickly snatched my phone from my hands and ran away with it.

“Matt, what the fuck!” I yelled as I attempted to chase him. Matt tossed it over my head and Nick caught it at the perfect time for Y/n to text me back. My phone lit up with her name and photo and Nick's jaw dropped.

“Y/n?!”

“Ew, the weird bitch?” Matt added.

“She’s not fucking weird!” I snapped, grabbing my phone back. “Don’t fucking worry about it.” I stormed off to my room and since then they haven’t brought it up. Which was fine by me. They didn’t take the time to get to know her, no one did. She was actually cool as fuck.

I thought about texting her as I watched her walk further down the street. But it just didn’t feel right. I wanted to talk to her in person.

“Dude! What are you doing?” Matt burst through my door. “You totally fucked me and Nick in the game!”

“I’m done playing for now.” I told him as I went to my closet to grab my coat and snow boots.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

“Chris!”

I hated keeping things from my brothers but this was something I didn’t feel like discussing with them further. They made it clear they didn’t care about Y/n. The only time they ever made comments is when they noticed her and her mom fighting. They knew she was my friend and that’s all they needed to know. All I cared about was catching up with Y/n and making sure she was okay. It was absolutely freezing outside.

I left out the backdoor without responding to Matt and made my way down the street.

Y/n’s POV

You let the tears fall freely from your eyes as you dragged your cigarette. One more semester until you graduate and then you could leave this god awful suburb for the rest of your life. After your dad died when you were just thirteen, your mom took all her anger out on you. The last five years had been miserable. You missed your dad. You missed when your mom didn’t drink. You missed when you were a regular family. Now you were just the girl everyone felt sorry for. The troubled one.

You made your way to the small pond near the end of your neighborhood. You were ready to sit and let the stillness of the water distract you until you heard footsteps behind you. Your body tensed, nervous for who would be out here at this hour. You reached in your pocket and grabbed your knife, quickly pulling it and turning it on the person walking your way.

“Whoa, whoa!” The dark figure said, stopping in his tracks with his hands up. “It’s me! Chris!”

“Chris?” You asked softly, lowering your knife. He stepped forward. It was indeed Chris Sturniolo. You took a deep breath at the sight of him. “You scared the fuck out of me!” You scolded.

“I’m sorry…” He said. Unsure if he should walk closer or not.

“It’s fine,” You chuckled. “What are you doing out here?”

“Oh, you know, just enjoying the freezing weather.” He said, smiling and stepping closer to you.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” You joke as your teeth chattered.

“What are you doing out here, Y/n?” Chris asks, his voice more serious now.

“Just needed some air.” You told him. “I like this pond in the summer. There are lots of frogs. I wonder where they all go in the winter…” Your face fell as you pondered the thought.

“Y/n..”

You sniffled as you looked down at the pond. Chris always knew. “What.” You responded. It wasn’t a question.

“You have mascara running down your cheeks.”

Christopher Sturniolo might have been the only person to ever see you cry. He always knew and he was always there. It was a rare occasion but as you thought back on it, he always seemed to appear when you were sad and find a way to cheer you up. Whether it be walking home with you, trying to make you laugh, or even just sitting next to you silently so you wouldn’t be alone.

“She said she wishes I wasn’t her daughter.” You confessed, allowing your head to fall. Chris wasted no time in wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him. Normally you hated being touched but you felt so comfortable with him. He wrapped one hand around your lower back and the other made its way to your hair as he towered just above you.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. You deserve so much more.” He said softly.

You cried more at his words. In what world did you deserve more? In what world did you deserve Chris?

“Y/n, you’re freezing.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll call Billy-”

“No. Come to my house.” He cut you off.

You were taken aback for a moment. You hadn’t been to the Sturniolo’s since their 13th birthday party. The only reason you were invited was because your father died. You couldn’t imagine his parents or brothers actually liked you.

“Chris, I can’t just intrude like that-”

“You’re not intruding. And I don’t want you at Billy’s.” He stated. You’d never heard the sweet Chris Sturniolo sound so serious about something. Billy definitely wasn’t the best guy but he always gave you a place to stay when you needed it. “I don’t trust him.”

Chris had no reason to trust him. Billy was a dick and often fucked people over. But having him as a connect meant a place to stay and drugs to do as long as you put out or helped him out. But to be invited to Chris’s house made you nervous. His parents were sweet. His brothers were protective. Chris bringing you home would be like bringing home a stray raccoon.

“Chris, I can’t.” You sigh.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not a good look sneaking some degenerate into your home at midnight,”

“I will walk you through the front door proudly,” He says. “Besides, my parents are asleep and my brothers are too invested in their game. Just come over for a bit to warm up? We can listen to music in my room.”

You thought about it for a moment.

“If you hate it, you live right across the street,” He smiled hopefully at you,

You couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Fine.” You say. “But just for a little bit! Once my mom is asleep I’m going home.”

“Deal.” Chris agreed, throwing his arm over your shoulder and guiding you back towards the street.

The two of you walked back to his house with minimal conversation.

“Wanna catch snowflakes?” Chris asked before sticking his tongue out and letting the snow fall on it.

You giggled at him but followed his lead. The crisp flakes on your tongue felt nice. You were having fun jumping around in the snow with Chris. You even stopped at the park to make stupid snow angels and throw snowballs at each other. Before you knew it, the snow was getting heavier, almost blizzarding.

“C’mon!” Chris yelled, grabbing your hand and running towards his house.

You made it to his porch and he opened the door slowly. The kitchen was mostly dark aside from the microwave light being on and the light that shined underneath Nick’s door. You could hear him still awake, obviously yelling at a video game he was playing.

Chris put a finger to his lips, gesturing for you to be quiet as you both slipped out of your boots. He grabbed your hand and you both tiptoed through the dimly lit house and up to his room. You made your way down the hall and followed Chris into his bedroom.

“Make yourself at home,” He said with a smile. He went to his computer and logged into his Spotify. You scanned his room, noticing all the posters of his favorite artists on his walls. You could tell he was passionate about music.

“Who’s your favorite?” You ask. He looks at you and you gestured to all the posters.

“Skies, for sure!” He says. “What about you?”

You unzip your coat to reveal the shirt you got at Grey Day last year. “$uicideboy$”

Chris smiles at you. “I’ve never really listened to them. What’s a good song?”

“A Death In The Ocean Would Be Beautiful,” You say as you slip off your coat and sit on his bed.

Chris turns on his galaxy projector so that wave-like colors flow across his ceiling before he presses play and joins you on his bed. You both lay back and listen intently as you watch the lights.

“They’re kind of depressing…” Chris admits after the song is over.

You chuckle slightly. “Yeah, they can be. But they can be helpful. They get it, you know? What I’m going through.”

Chris turns on his side and you mirror his movements as if you were his natural reflection. “I hate hearing it every night.” He admits.

Your body curls into itself, you pull your sleeves further over your hands. “I’m sorry…”

“No, not like that,” He says, propping himself up on one arm and placing his other on your shoulder, gently tangling his fingers through the ends of your hair. “I just hate hearing you guys fight and seeing you walk out in the cold every night. You don’t deserve that.”

“Trust me, Chris. I’m no saint.” You say with a sad laugh.

“Don’t have to be a saint to deserve basic respect, especially from your own family.”

“I only have to deal with it for a few more months. When I graduate, I’m out of here.” You smiled at the thought.

“You know…I’m really going to miss you…” Chris says softly.

You look up to see his eyes already on you. You wanted to tell him you’d miss him too. You wanted to tell him to come with you, although you knew he’d never leave his brothers. You wanted to tell him he was the only good thing in your life and every time you were near him you felt happy and warm and like everything was going to be okay for once in your miserable fucking life. But with every single thought your brain contained about Chris Sturniolo, your mouth could only mutter three little words.

“I love you…”

Chris’s lips parted slightly with shock as his eyes quickly scanned your features.

“Fuck! I’m sor-”

You were quickly cut off when he pressed his lips to yours. You were taken aback for a moment but quickly leaned in to deepen the kiss. He brought his hand up to cup your jaw and your fingers found their way to his hair. His lips were soft and sweet and you felt that fluttering feeling in the pit of your stomach that you hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

He pulled away slightly and you frowned at the loss of contact. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long fucking time…” He said, his voice almost a whisper.

“I-I didn’t know you liked me…” You said. “Why?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You’re smart, you’re sweet, you know what you want, and pretty as hell.” He smiled. “Not to mention you’re like the strongest person I know. You deserve so much better than the cards you’ve been dealt.”

You felt tears welling in your eyes again but you couldn’t help but smile. You don’t know what you did to deserve the pretty boy who had his arms wrapped around you, but you hoped you never had to let him go.

“Can I stay?” You asked shyly.

Chris smiled and pulled his comforter over both of you. “Please,” He said.

You snuggled into him, resting your head on his chest while he played with your hair.

“And Y/n?” He said, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Mmm?”

“I love you, too.”

Tagging a few mutuals! Let me know if you want to be added/removed from tag list :)

Tags: @strniohoeee @flowerxbunnie @christinarowie332 @kenzieiskoolaid @bluesturniolo333 @chrattnick @recklesssturniolo @soursturniolo @byechristopher @justangelheree @sturnimovies

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo oneshot #my writing

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